Whatever Gets You Through The Day
by AP Stacey
Summary: B'Elanna Torres and Seven of Nine could not be more different, and every moment spent in each other's company seems to reinforce that fact. Nonetheless, sometimes fate can intervene and as everyone knows - opposites attract.
1. Chapter I : Belle of the Ball

_Pairing : B'Elanna / Seven_

_Rating : Mature_

_Feedback : I took the time to write it, so do me the honour of taking the time to respond when you read it. _

* * *

_Chapter I : Reluctant Photons on the arm of Perfection ..._

* * *

The Doctor threw the Padd to the desk, sighing as the document clattered loudly and skidded across the surface. Laying his hands upon the armrests provided, the hologram bemoaned quietly the pointlessness of the medical logistical reports he was forced to complete - Neither unimportant enough to delegate to a crewman, or befitting of a Chief Medical Officer.

Scanning the empty Sickbay, an ironic smirk settled on his computer-generated features. A Chief Medical Officer devoid of a staff, recognition or realistic existence. His sole assistant not even that of a nurse, but the pseudo-medic Tom Paris, whose abilities beyond working a medical tricorder were doubtful and best not tested.

The Doctor sighed, his eyes travelling back to the confines of his office. He could hardly blame Mister Paris for loathing his Sickbay duties - even the Emergency Medical Hologram felt melancholy at his daily slog and grind; a hypospray was as far from the helm of a starship as any self-respecting pilot could hope to bear and though he was hardly enthusiastic, he complied with his duty - nothing more could be asked of him.

The Doctor gazed now at his liberator, in the form of the mobile emitter, laying atop its charging pad where it had sat undisturbed for the past several weeks. His limited understanding of the unit at least confirmed it stood at full charge, awaiting use at the slightest inclination. Yet it had dawned upon the hologram that he had little true purpose for the wondrous piece of Twenty-Ninth Century technology, as limited as his existence beyond these walls was.

He boasted few close friends; the closest of which, Kes, smitten with fantastical abilities had set out to explore the universe and all it contained many months beforehand. Her desire to learn, to be educated by The Doctor and in turn become his assistant had fled with her, and robbed the Chief Medical Officer of much of his confidence.

She had been the first to believe in his worth as a person, and now she was beyond reach.

His fondness for holophotography could be sated by the holodeck itself, which his program required no help in reaching. He had quickly discontinued his public showings, when an overheard conversation between Megan Delaney and her sister had revealed the true loathing the senior staff had held for his exhibitions - better to end them, than to be embarrassed by the most pathetic of excuses not to attend.

Retrieving the pad and emitter, The Doctor opened the first drawer of his desk, depositing the technology within and closing it once more. The emitter would be relegated to emergency use, where his skills required departing the range of the holoprojectors or compulsory social events he could hardly avoid.

Thoughts shifted to the crew, and how they had changed since Kes' departure. Personal relationships had begun to spring forth, to which the Doctor was glad - he had feared a long journey, too long a journey without companionship for the crew to withstand, and took heart in their happiness found with each other; B'Elanna and Tom one of the more widely known, but Harry and Samantha Wildeman, Vorik and Jennifer Delaney just as important and of course the ever-mysterious relationship between the Captain and her First Officer.

Yet the melancholy which afflicted him would not be pleased and depart, clouding his spirit and relegating his feeling of well-being to new lows. Only the walls of Sickbay, his home if such a thing existed for a being composed of light, seemed more a reminder of that which made him so much more different than B'Elanna, or Harry, or even Seven of Nine.

He was a simulation - the personality of Lewis Zimmerman endowed with medical knowledge, and generated by onboard holoprojectors and coordinated computer systems. Despite his modifications, some more successful than others, the obvious truth was unavoidable - he was an Emergency Medical Program, in an extraordinary situation with regards to the Voyager and her mammoth journey, but a program nonetheless.

He came to realise this, the moment he accepted the folly of his constant quest for further refinement at the conclusion of his former protégé's rather unfortunate date with Mister Chapman. When his many supposed talents, all uploaded rather than learned or practised, were employed; as waiter, pianist teacher and ultimately physician when events took an unfortunate turn. The conclusion, and Seven of Nine's summation that `no suitable mates existed onboard' had been crushing, and as The Doctor eventually accepted, true.

He had done his upmost to banish thoughts of the beautiful and brilliant woman from his mind, unwilling to endure the torture of longing.

His ponderings were interrupted by the hiss of opening doors beyond his office, and the impossibly tall form of the former drone, Seven of Nine, crossing the short distance to his office. He turned his gaze away, successfully avoiding meeting her own.

"Please state the nature of the medical emergency," he began flatly.

"I have come for my maintenance Doctor ," she replied, assuming the pose so comfortable for her and so alien to others. Hands clasped tightly behind a back so straight as to create a posture impossibly perfect and visually uncomfortable. Legs slightly apart, head held high, her true aesthetic beauty was obvious.

"Have a seat at a biobed," The Doctor ordered. "There's plenty to choose from, and I don't suppose it'll change anytime soon."

Seven's occular implant rose, though she said nothing as she negotiated the short distance to the nearest bed and sat atop, legs dangling over the side. Her auditory processor informed her The Doctor's tone was almost forty percent less pronounced than when she had last undertaken a visit to sickbay, three weeks before.

Armed now with a tricorder, The Doctor dutifully ran the hand scanner downwards, from forehead to jaw and back up once more, a few inches from the alabaster flesh which obscured the workings of the body beneath. Interpreting the data flawlessly and instantly, he read aloud his findings.

"Cortical node functional, no indications of malfunction; neural activity nominal; electrolyte levels consistent with regeneration cycle; brain stem regulation implant operating normally - your brachial clamp is out of alignment, it'll take a moment to realign if you have the time now."

This did cause Seven to pause - The Doctor did not usually offer a choice even when dealing with the most minor of her implants' problems, traditionally insisting on the correction of even the slightest anomalous reading. Nodding her head, the ex-Borg took the impetus on offer; "Correct the misalignment."

Taking hold of her mesh-encased hand, the hologram straightened the arm outwards, his right hand tracing the nerve pathways up through the elbow, the bicep and finally, the shoulder. Joined by the other both hand he began to massage the implant that replaced the Human clavicle; gently though firmly rotating the angle to optimum.

"Are you alright, Doctor?"

Pausing his treatment momentarily, he simply nodded, before returning to his work. Several moments further and he announced success by withdrawing his hands, and retrieving the tricorder. Analysing the results, he nodded again with satisfaction. "Your clamp is realigned, and that concludes your check-up. I'll see you in a few weeks."

Seven returned to standing, slowly as she pondered the odd behaviour of the Doctor. Not a single joke cracked, or complaint at the most minor of things. He had been professional, efficient but he had been … cold.

"Will you be attending Tal Celess' birth day celebration this evening?" She asked, seeking to steer the conversation to something resembling small talk - hardly her speciality, but seeking to inspire the Doctor to some semblance of conversation regardless.

The Doctor shook his head as he replaced the instruments used in the examination upon a tray, and in turn placed the tray upon the trolley which concluded his attempts to tidy the already sparse Sickbay. "I hadn't planned - I've a lot of work to complete here."

"You have no work I can ascertain," Seven rebuked, her brow rising as her gaze indicated the emptiness of Sickbay and as a result, the emptiness in the hologram's schedule and workload. She clasped her hands behind back once more, reverting to her traditional challenging stance.

"My work doesn't end with fixing broken bones and brachial clamps," he admonished with an almost-weary tone. "Mister Paris has shown such desire to avoid Sickbay as often as possible that I have to undertake his duties too - I don't have a staff Seven, or even a proper assistant. "

The blonde pondered for a moment, "Then you are overworked, and require recreation - you shall accompany me tonight, and we will complete the outstanding social lesson you have not yet found the time to teach me."

The Doctor frowned, "Which lesson?"

"I believe," she began as her eidetic memory recalled the fact when requested, "It was lesson Forty Eight; `Turn that frown upside down'."

"Seven, I think you've moved well beyond what a hologram can teach you about humanity. You've been on a date, you've attended gatherings and you've made friends; there's really nothing more I can show you, and I'd just be monopolising your time."

"You cannot monopolise what is given freely," she countered. "If I did not wish to spend time with you, rest assured I would not. As it stands, I will `pick you up' at nineteen-hundred-hours. I have been informed it is smart dress, I assume you know what is appropriate?"

The Doctor sighed realising resistance, in this case, was futile. "I'm sure I'll find something relevant," he relented.

Seven nodded, turning to exit Sickbay. As the doors parted to allow her leave, the Astrometrics officer paused, turning finally to address the holographic physician. "It is a `date', then. I shall return at nineteen hundred hours approximately - be punctual."

The Doctor shook his head as he was once more left alone - with the worst possible outcome of what he had hoped would be a speedy, and painless interaction with the object of his affections. How could he hope to restrain his foolish desire? An evening of suffering and sadness awaited him, and in the irony of it all, the former-drone was implicitly innocent - seeking to lift a veil of grey she had detected over his head despite the cause of it.

Satisfied his Sickbay was once more utterly spotless, The Doctor returned to his office, and replaced the emitter upon the desktop. "Computer, set auto re-initialisation of Emergency Medical Hologram for eighteen-hundred hours."

"Re-initialisation set," confirmed the shipboard intelligence.

"Computer, deactivate Emergency Medical Hologram."

...

* * *

...

B'Elanna tumbled from the Jefferies tube hatch with a thud and accompanying Kingonese cursing. Aiming a swift kick at the offending door, she dusted her uniform jacket off, sealing the slightly dented hatchway closed and climbing back to her feet. The day had been beyond unproductive - almost seven hours spent correcting minor malfunctions and problems with precisely nothing of long-term interest served. Whilst the engineer didn't mind fixing problems, both the Human and Klingon united in their hatred of teething irritations and minor distractions.

Entering her quarters, she deposited the engineering kit on the couch by way of throwing, satisfied enough it had landed intact. Stripping down to vest and uniform trousers, B'Elanna entered the bedroom to find her husband locked in a battle of wills with which tie to wear.

"Black is so traditional …" he mused, unaware of the company, before switching to a bright red. " ... But colour is more interesting," and finally, running a hand through his hair; "I could probably stand for a haircut too."

"You could wear your birthday suit?" Torres chimed in with a grin, stepping into the bathroom.

"Evening dear!" Tom replied cheerfully, finally discarding the black tie in favour of the red. "I'd take up your suggestion, but it's Tal's birthday after all - I don't think her guests are supposed to turn up naked."

B'Elanna shrugged as she entered the sonic shower, "I heard she was part Betazoid."

Tom didn't answer, imagining for a moment the interesting consequences of a Betazoid wedding; nakedness and nudity foremost in his mind even as he nodded his approval at the mirror - he certainly looked good in a suit, though it added a few years to his boyish charm.

"You're thinking of the Delaney sisters, aren't you?"

Tom turned to rebuke as his wife exited the shower, wearing only a towel. "Most certainly not, Miss Torres! Besides, I wouldn't fancy my chances against Vorik - He's so protective of Jennifer that between you and him … I'd definitely need the Doc's twenty-four hour call out."

B'Elanna grinned as she leant over the replicator panel; "You should be thankful it isn't Betazoid - Do you really want to see The Doctor naked?"

Retrieving his shoes, Voyager's helmsman pondered. "It'd be worse on you - whose gonna' modify his programme? Then again, maybe you're right … I mean, we'd be seeing Seven of Nine too."

The Chief Engineer screwed up her nose at the mention of modelling nude holograms, but frowned at Tom's final words. "I'm surprised flyboy - I'd have thought you'd be dying to see her curves up close and personal, sans bio suit and all."

Tom shook his head; "Nah, I'm not too comfortable with that. I mean, the implants she has that I can see sort of freak me out … the thought of metal screwed into bones and fused with flesh … gives me the shudders just thinking about it."

Standing, he continued. "I once saw her leave the holodeck after a game of Velocity with the Captain. Her shoulder, the left one I think had an implant like the starburst one on her cheek, but much bigger - it had eight or so points which buried underneath the skin, and the flesh around it was still the same hue as the colour of drones; pale and clammy, and snaking with veins-"

"Alright Tom, I get the picture," B'Elanna interrupted. "Besides, why do we have to discuss our resident Ice Princess? We're going to a party, not a funeral after all."

"Digging out the Klingon death armour?" He added, waggling his eyebrows suggestively but stopping short enough to avoid a swinging backhand. "C'mon, just the titanium bustier - I won't tell if you don't."

"I'll kill you Paris," she mumbled, waiting for the replicator to do its work. Satisfied she'd programmed it properly and replicated, Torres removed the dress from the hatchway, to a whistle from her husband. The gown was blood red, a sleeveless affair with a hemline terminating only halfway between her thighs and knees. An intricate pattern of sewn white star outlines permeated the material, bar where the sleeves should have begun - there the thinnest membranes of white flittered outwards.

"That's absolutely stunning," Tom complimented.

"I might not like to wear dresses, but I'll be damned if I look stupid doing it. Besides, you better enjoy it while you can - This is the most you'll be seeing of my flesh for the next few days - bustier indeed."

No amount of whining therein, absolved Tom of his burden.

...

* * *

...

"Computer, alter the suit to white, include the tie and shoes … No, that's utterly horrible. Computer, remove last change to garments and rotate shoe type to brogue; colour white and black."

The doctor looked at the mirror one final time, and sighed at his ordinary appearance. After almost an hour of attempting to find something unique, he had instead settled upon the simple combination of black suit jacket and trousers, brogues, white shirt and black tie. He might as well have been going to a funeral. He sighed, "Computer, remove holographic mirror."

At that moment, as the Computer fulfilled both The Doctor's request in regards to the mirror, and alerted him of the time being nineteen hundred hours approximately, the doors to Sickbay opened to admit a very different Seven of Nine.

The Doctor was utterly unable to comprehend words, mouth opening, subroutines active, but no vocalisation coming forth. After several moments the feedback loop between his cognitive system and physical subroutine solved itself and he managed a few words. "Seven, you look beautiful."

"Thank you Doctor, you are efficient also," came the response from the woman who had apparently replaced the less-is-more ex-Borg. Seven wore a dress coloured a cobalt blue and not entirely dissimilar to her eyes, so that an observer would be forced to stare into the enticing orbs to match any similarity. The hem ended just above the ankles, so that elegant, black strapped high-heels could be seen upon her feet.

Surrounding her neck, a simple silver necklace hung, beneath a neckline which allowed for a tasteful though enticing view. More shocking though, were the cascading blonde locks which obscured her occular implant, freed from their severe bun for one night only and ending just beneath her shoulder blades.

"I believe it is customary to join arms in accompaniment," she began, offering her mesh-encased limb for the taking. "Am I accurate in your social lessons?"

The Doctor nodded, and lined his arm in hers without hesitation. As the pair walked towards exit, the Doctor extended his free arm and swiped the mobile emitter from its new, though brief spot atop a medical trolley.

"Computer, transfer the Emergency Medical Hologram to the mobile emitter."

The Doctor and Seven were not in Sickbay to hear Voyager's artificial intelligence conclude the transfer, and advice the departed hologram of his successful transference. Nonetheless , the Computer made the statement for completeness' sake.

...

* * *

...

Kathryn Janeway, Captain of the U.S.S. Voyager and sole Starfleet command authority within the Delta Quadrant, regarded the mess hall with a warm smile. Returning the wave from the beaming Tal Celess, she placed her champagne glass on the table, turning to her First Officer.

"We haven't had an atmosphere like this in quite some time," she mused. "We've been a little too dutiful these passing months, Commander."

Chakotay nodded, "It's nice to see everyone letting their hair down, including our Captain, and our resident authority on the Borg."

Janeway's curiosity was piqued, "Oh? Seven's view of social situations doesn't fill me with confidence. I expect a twenty minute stay and the excuse of "Important Astrometrics assignments"' to depart. I really wish she'd use these opportunities to forge some friendships amongst the crew."

"Oh, she'll be forging some blindness," he replied sipping some of the champagne from his glass. "She's certainly gone to some trouble."

Without further intervention, the doors to the mess hall opened to admit the woman in question and on her arm The Doctor, who had been conspicuous in his absence from various meetings and informal get-togethers for several weeks without explanation beyond work commitments.

Continuing on as he watched his superior dumfounded by the former Borg, Chakotay ploughed ahead. "If ever I needed a reason why you did what you did in separating her from the collective Kathryn, that is it. She's radiant."

Janeway nodded, "I feel a little too prideful I think. The man on her arm should probably take a little of the credit."

Chakotay nodded a smile breaking outwards on his face, "He's really branching out; Doctor, Tenor, Tailor and Teacher."

The Captain playfully elbowed the older man in the ribs; "What are you waiting or Commander? Let's go and make our introductions - before we have to join a queue."

...

* * *

...

"Holy shit," Tom announced, drawing the ire of his wife as he downed the last of his glass' contents abruptly. "Harry!" he called, gathering the attention of his best friend from the buffet table, and gesturing towards the new arrival.

"Holy shit," Harry echoed, joined by an equally surprised Samantha Wildeman. "Is that Seven of Nine?" she asked.

"Probably a new method of assimilation," Torres replied caustically. "They've replaced "resistance is futile" with "come and get me big boy"."

"She can assimilate me any time," Tom replied, smiling from ear to ear, and again sidestepping his wife. "But then again, I hear once you've had Borg, you never go back."

B'Elanna downed her fourth glass of champagne, huffing. She wouldn't begrudge any of the crew putting some effort into their appearance - Samantha, Megan or Jennifer or Tal but Seven? The woman who's practically married to numbers? It's just insulting. To her it was some game of reaction, measuring responses like an experiment. Where was the emotion?

Grabbing another glass, this one destined for Tom, she drank it quickly, despite his protests. She didn't enjoy parties much, and she doubly didn't enjoy being upstaged at one of the few parties B'Elanna had bothered attending.

"Don't you think you're going a little overboard on the synthehol?"

"Cram it, flyboy." She retorted icily, in no mood for her meanderings to be interrupted by Tom, who was still doing his upmost, and failing terribly, at masking his constant stolen glances in the blonde's general direction.

B'Elanna had almost worked up the courage to introduce herself to Seven, with the intention of making a few pointed remarks, when the mess hall shook violently - the buffet table upending and sending the assorted works of Neelix and some more spice-fearing individual recipes into the air. The Half-Klingon found herself thrown to the floor along with the majority of the other guests, bar those with superior reflexes, such as Seven, The Doctor and Tuvok.

Even as Janeway used the counter to haul herself back level, a second thunderous impact robbed the mess hall of lighting, illuminated only by the red alert tapers which had now become active, accompanied by the blaring siren of warning.

"Janeway to Bridge, report!"

Lieutenant Ayala responded - "We've taken two direct hits from an as-yet unknown assailant; energy imprints on the hull are consistent with some type of phased beam weapon, but sensors are reading nothing except open space ahead; possible cloaking device in operation."

The Captain was already moving, along with the now-recovered Chakotay, towards the mess hall exit. "Damage report?"

"We've lost warp engines - the second impact blew out a plasma injector on the deuterium assembly. Shields have taken a serious dent, we're down to fifty three percent effectiveness across the dorsal grid."

"All senior staff, report to their stations," Janeway ordered. "Seven, report to Engineering; Lieutenant Torres might need your assistance."

Torres groaned as she shook her head, thankful at least that synthehol forgave the sin of overdoing it and already feeling the mental fogginess accompanied by binging beginning to fade. Putting aside her usual Seven-related reservations, she called on her professionalism and slowed her pace as she passed the ex-Borg, a clear though reluctant invitation to join her stride evident.

"So Seven, where'd you get that number? I don't think it's in the bio-suit database?"

Seven followed the question with a trademark brow furrowing, as she and the diminutive engineer worked their way towards Engineering. "You are correct Lieutenant, it is a custom design of my own making, incorporating various aesthetic ideals and my own particular body form into consideration."

"Yes, I know you're curvy - no need to rub it in the faces of us mere mortals," she muttered.

"You are mistaken Lieutenant Torres, I had to make changes to ensure my implants would not be visible, through their shape disturbing the material of the dress. It has nothing to do with my 'curves', whatever you are referring to. In any case, you are widely considered by the crew to possess an attractive figure."

B'Elanna stopped, "Excuse me?"

"My enhanced hearing means I am privy to conversations others cannot hear. Many times I have heard of both male and female crewman describing you variously as hot, sexy, pretty, beautiful, vivacious, exotic …"

"Alright," she interrupted, "I get your point. …Thanks, I suppose."

"I am merely relaying what I have heard, Lieutenant."

Torres did not have the time to formulate a thought cursing those irritating final words, as a third and totally debilitating rumble threw her from standing. Seven likewise could not resist, and was thrown against the bulkhead, groaning as her shoulder impacted the metal painfully. Sliding to the floor, she took a few moments to ascertain the pain radiating from the brachial clamp indicated damage, and that the Chief Engineer lived, from the stream of foul language emanating from her general direction.

"You still livin'?"

Seven nodded, "I am functioning."

The Computer, perhaps taking offence at not being consulted, chimed in with a ship-wide announcement. "Warning, intruder alert; deck ten, section four."

B'Elanna had already broken into a run, knowing Seven would be aside her in moments . They were a deck from Engineering and probably the second safest place on the ship. From there they could coordinate with security teams and fine-tune the internal sensors, whilst also addressing obvious damage already sustained to the warp drive.

"We have been boarded," Seven announced as she began to overtake the hybrid, despite still wearing high-heels.

"Seems so," she shot back, ignoring the obvious. B'Elanna did however slow her pace down upon the bright flash which assailed her vision directly in front, and forced her to stop, temporarily unable to see bar a bright white noise of light. Placing her hands on her knees, bent over and breathing heavily from exertion, her vision cleared and joined the unmistakable groaning of Seven of Nine.

The ex-Drone was on her knees, a bright blue tendril of energy leaping forth from her occular implant and jumping into the starburst implant upon her cheekbone. No sooner had Torres opened her mouth to ask Seven if she was alright than a second impact struck the blonde, and sent her to the deck, unconscious.

Dropping to her knees, B'Elanna checked for a pulse, and found one at the tip of fingers pressed on the younger woman's neck. Turning her head, B'Elanna spied a shadow emerging from the corner of the corridor and the features of something obviously not bipedal.

Then she became the target of the third energy strike, and she knew no more.

...

* * *

...

The Doctor pressed the hypospray upon clammy, pale flesh. Running a tricorder over the body prone below he frowned, even as a groan indicated a somewhat reassuring revival. Moving to a diagnostic station, the hologram input the results.

Seven of Nine sat up slowly, her gaze travelling across the various dermal plasters bound across her limbs and chest. With long tresses of blonde stuck to her sweat-laden forehead uncomfortably, her cobalt-blue eyes were clouded, and confused.

"Seven, how do you feel?" Came the familiar, reassuring voice.

"Doc?" She asked, uncertainly.

The Doctor frowned at the choice of language. "We were boarded by outlaws, pirates. They overpowered our shields and transported aboard - Taking a number of supplies from our cargo bay and some bio-neural gel packs, but nothing irreplaceable. Yourself and Lieutenant Torres were the only injuries; Some sort of neural disruptor ... A quite immoral weapon."

"I feel like a Targ on the third day Mid-Summer mating season," groaned Seven. Pausing, her eyes opened widely. She ran a hand over the tendrils of metal that formed a mesh over the left arm, breathing coming in heaving gasps.

"Doc, this isn't my body." She whispered.

For a moment, the Hologram was utterly speechless. Ever professional, he examined the neural logs in front of him further. As Seven continued to fidget, stretching arms, clicking joints and running fingers through blonde hair, he silenced the monitor.

"It seems there are two neural signals within your … Seven's … neo-cortex. I'd thought this a side-effect of the neural disruptor you were both hit with, but obviously something quite alarming has transpired."

"Two signals … You mean, I'm not where I should be? What happened to me, I mean … myself?"

The Doctor gestured to a biobed at the other side of Sickbay. Atop it, unconscious and surrounded by various medical technologies, lay the utterly motionless form of the Chief Engineer, seemingly asleep bar the healing cut on her ridged brow.

"You were in a coma upon transport to Sickbay … but evidently your consciousness has migrated into Seven's body."

He pondered the shocking development. "You're now a tenant of our ex-Borg B'Elanna - and I don't have the faintest idea how to reverse the damage. That is, until I find out precisely how this came about and the exact circumstances of the attack … I can't do anything more."

...

* * *

...

**To Be Continued ...**


	2. Chapter II : Your Place or Mine

_Pairing : B'Elanna / Seven_

_Rating : Mature_

_Feedback : I took the time to write it, so do me the honour of taking the time to respond when you read it. _

* * *

_Chapter II : The Neighbour over the way ..._

* * *

The Doctor shifted his weight, leaning back in his chair as the mass of padds upon his desk and held in his grasp were momentarily forgotten. Freeing his left hand, he rubbed the bridge of his nose - growing exasperated with the lack of progress he had made despite the sheer complexity of the problem before him. His gesture was purely symbolic ; holograms did not grow weary, or fatigued or irritated.

They also did not paint, listen to opera, leave the confines of their original generating area and most importantly of all, fall in love. If his years serving as the impromptu Chief Medical Officer aboard the lost Intrepid-Class starship had taught him anything, it was that the `Emergency Medical Hologram' was no mere hologram.

Returning his gaze first to the now-slumbering Seven of Nine … and apparently B'Elanna Torres also, The Doctor saw from the corner of his eye the doors to sickbay open, admitting the most senior of Voyager's crew. Short in stature, but making up for such lack of physically with an overwhelming presence of mind that seemed to dominate any room.

"Report," Janeway said with obvious respect for the quietened atmosphere, entering the office and stopping before the beleaguered photonic man.

The Doctor stood, rotating his small computer terminal so that his superior might see the displayed log, having called up the necessary details. "Do you remember the incident with the Borg Vinculum, Captain?"

Janeway's eyes narrowed slightly, having little trouble in recalling the incident which had seen multiple personalities of those the ex-drone had assimilated taking over her body. Were it not for the apparent pseudo-science of a Vulcan mind meld, the Captain might very well have seen Seven of Nine descend into a psychotic madness from which there would have been no escape.

"You're not filling me with confidence, Doctor," She responded dryly, studying the medical information he had highlighted. Her brow furrowed, and she leaned closer; "The neural scan of Seven seem to indicate another pattern - More personalities? We haven't encountered or detected any signs of Borg activity in this sector …"

The physician shook his head; "The second neural signal visible does not belong to one of the repressed personalities, Captain. Its occupant is here, in Sickbay - in a coma, without any higher brain functions. Lieutenant Torres has taken up residence, somehow, or some way."

Janeway baulked visibly, "B'Elanna is occupying Seven's body?"

"Not so much occupying as co-inhabiting," he corrected. "I'm waiting for the computer to complete a mapping of Seven's neural pathways, so I can ascertain the extend of the alteration and understand just how our Chief Engineer came to be in here."

To say Kathryn was struck dumb was to be utterly correct. The look she read upon the face of The Doctor worried her exponentially more; the hologram had witnessed and been party to treating some of the most peculiar and awe-inspiring medical complaints the Federation had ever encountered ... to see him at a loss worried her infinitely more.

"Is there anything I can do beyond talking?"

The Doctor pondered for a moment, "If I make a suggestion Captain? The weapon my patients were struck with was a neural disruptor of unique design in my experience. It seemed to leave a residual energy imprint which arced between the hypothalamus and cerebral cortex - If I were to see one of those rifles, I'd have a far better idea of what I'm dealing with medically."

Janeway had already brought a hand to her commbadge. "Janeway to Bridge - I want the warp signature of the pirate craft identified, regardless of difficulty and resources required, and a pursuit course engaged as soon as it's feasible."

The cool intones of Voyager's Chief of Security disseminated the information, and replied in the affirmative; "Acknowledged Captain, I will report to you when we have the signature. Tuvok out."

A low groan precipitated the Captain and The Doctor, as a mesh-encased hand groggily rubbed a throbbing temple. Retrieving a tricorder, the Chief Medical Officer, with Janeway in tow, arrived at the side of the biobed.

"And who might we have the pleasure of talking to this time?" Asked The Doctor, his concentration divided between patient and medical tricorder; one arm extended as the handheld scanning device moved from head to toe.

"Ugh, still me Doc," came the slurred reply. Janeway's face twisted into something resembling bemusement as she heard the voice so often associated with control, detachment and aloofness infused with the warmth and energy of the half-Klingon.

Snapping herself back to reality, the Captain made eye contact with the still-struggling patient upon the bed; "How do you feel Lieutenant?"

Sitting up slowly, and using both hands to balance, B'Elanna-Seven fixed intense cobalt orbs on the Captain. "As well as someone who's sharing a brain with Seven can be."

"Is she alright?" The Doctor interjected, "Is she conscious?"

Seven pondered for a movement, eyelids lowering slightly as was the way of a person whose consciousness was being devoted internally, to great thinking and pondering. After a moment, the conflicted face nodded slightly.

"I can feel her … almost hovering around the peripheral of my vision … weird. I don't think she's enjoying the experience very much."

The Doctor took his turn to frown; "How odd, I had expected Seven's personality to be dominant - she being the original, well … tenant so to speak. Perhaps it's because of such barriers as the cortical inhibitor that Lieutenant Torres has manifested more strongly."

"I didn't think Seven had enough personality to fill half her body …"

"Lieutenant," Janeway admonished strongly. "It's never a good idea to insult the person whose keeping a roof over your head or in this case, a body for your mind. Now I want honesty - how are you really feeling? I don't need any brave faces, I just need the facts."

B'Elanna-Seven traced the mesh of the left hand with the nimble fingertips of the right, her lips twisting into a grimace laden with disdain, as she shuddered visibly. "I'm not really thrilled, Captain - It's the implants … they're creepy. I can't say the sensations of having a false eye and nanoprobes filtering through my blood are pleasant."

The Doctor closed the tricorder, and sighed. "Unfortunately, any possible treatment is mere theory at this stage. I can maintain B'Elanna's body for the foreseeable future; without the bothersome temper it'll be a simple case of sustaining bodily functions."

B'Elanna-Seven swung her legs over the biobed's edge and stood, making for the door.

"And where exactly do you think your going?" The Doctor demanded incredulously, "We can't just have a crewman with two minds walking the halls of the ship! I need you here for constant observation."

"Captain, there's absolutely no way in Grethnor The Doctor's getting me, I mean us, to stay here. You know exactly where I'm coming from and Seven doesn't need to be here for us both to know she'd agree with me; you've got to let us return to duty … we'll go mad."

B'Elanna almost smirked at how quickly she'd adapted to using `we' in actions. She ignored the curious sensations of the various implants and Borg technologies that outside Seven seemed to be silent, but in her fogged mind were as loud as screaming children.

"Doctor," Janeway began then paused, trying to come up with a short enough description of the new arrangement, "Give them a cortical monitor - Link the monitor directly into your program via the Sickbay systems so you can be alerted to any change."

"Captain," he sighed, surprising the room by not launching immediately into a screaming tirade as had been his style of tradition. "How can I help them if they insist on avoiding me? I can't perform miracles; if they don't submit for the tests and examinations then I might as well not bother."

Janeway admitted to surprise, though she kept it strictly isolated from her reply. "I understand your concerns Doctor, but the sheer unusualness of the situation means it needs to be handled a little delicately. I'll insist on a visit to Sickbay for your tests at least once a day and more, if you feel it's necessary."

The hologram nodded, retrieving a hypospray from the rack opposite. "This contains a neural suppressant, normally used during psychological procedures. I've diluted it to twenty five percent effectiveness - though it'll be negated by the Borg implants it should affect you, B'Elanna, normally and it'll make it easier to 'hear' Seven until you get used to this new arrangement."

Collecting a few vials of the concoction, he made sure B'Elanna-Seven understood the procedure. "If Seven is having trouble reasserting control of her body, simply increase the dosage of the suppressant, which should counteract the problem. I must remind you Lieutenant, that Seven requires at least five hours of regeneration per night minimum, and I must strongly recommend you make it at least eight following today's misadventure."

B'Elanna-Seven shuddered; "The whole cargo bay gives me the creeps Doc, can't I just sleep?"

The Doctor pondered, "Normally I'd encourage you to try, but your consciousness is being supported at least in part by Seven's cortical array, which requires recharging like any of her other implants. Though I don't know the precise results, I wouldn't toy with allowing them a prolonged time without the alcoves if I were a betting man; which I'm not, as it clashes with my ethical subroutines."

"Oh, and you're on a strictly part-time duty schedule," Janeway added, already moving to quell the imminent rebuke and denial brewing. "You can't expect anyone to believe you're fit to return to normal duty?"

B'Elanna-Seven looked down once more at her sky-blue biosuit, and grumbled. "Understood, Captain."

Fixing the cortical monitor just beneath the ex-drone's left ear, The Doctor nodded, satisfied. "The monitor is active, and I'm confirming the direct link to my program - I'll have the computer maintain a constant vigil even in the time I'm off-line."

"There's another issue," Janeway bridged, sighing as she received two confused stares in return. "There are people who must be informed of the situation; Tom comes to mind immediately."

B'Elanna-Seven nodded, a sickening thought formingthat Tom would view this not as a terrible accident, but a god-given opportunity to breach the realms of perversion to the point the half-Klingon feared the walls of reality would tear open, and devour them all; Borg-bonded and all.

...

* * *

...

B'Elanna, or rather, what was left of her, stared at the alcove with barely-concealed dread. Everything about it, from the copper-coloured piping to the dish refracting with lightning set above the head warned her to stay away - she could scarcely believe Seven spent any time here at all. Stepping up on to the dais, a deceptively delicate hand wrapped around The Doctor's hypospray, and pressed it against her neck.

After a weak hiss and a few moments of waiting, B'Elanna-Seven sighed with irritation. What kind of suppressant was this? Not only did she feel absolutely fine, but her headache even cleared slightly; reinforcing her dislike of all things medical.

*Lieutenant Torres …*

B'Elanna-Seven jumped, the hypospray clattering to the grid-like decking below with a resounding thud. Scooping it back to safety, the half-Klingon cursed loudly; speaking too soon as usual and winding up a fool for it. "Seven?"

*You do not have to speak out aloud, Lieutenant; I am perfectly able to hear your thoughts.*

"I'm not too good on the whole visualising … besides, I'm freaked out enough by what's going on. Are you alright? Where exactly are you, inside my … I mean your head?"

*I am where I have always been. I am able to see everything you see, hear everything you hear, but it seems your personality is more energetic than my own, and has displaced me to the role of spectator. It is most disconcerting to be so isolated.*

B'Elanna-Seven unconsciously reached upwards, pulling the hair pins from the severe blonde bun, until such time as the once-chained tresses swung free and quickly gathered about the former Borg's face; retreating only when they were forced into an unkempt ponytail.

*Lieutenant, why have you altered my hairstyle? It is inefficient.*

"It looks better," B'Elanna defended. "Besides, you look like a Librarian - so prim and austere; haven't you ever just worn it down?"

*Aesthetics are irrelevant. I remove my hair from its bun only when it requires washing, or when it is dislodged by strenuous activity.*

The Engineer sighed, pressing the hypospray to her neck and injecting a second dose. "We'll discuss this later, you need to regenerate first off; and I'd be really appreciative if you'd make it quick - I hate being amongst this."

The left arm of B'Elanna-Seven tensed, and began to flex at the fingers, despite not being a conscious effort. She felt control lapsing, as her right arm followed suit by bending at the elbow upwards, to scoop up the loose blonde locks and return them to some semblance of order.

*I don't like this,* B'Elanna surmised as she felt herself banished from the front line. *Can't you just leave your hair down? Why does it have to look as though someone's used a conduit aligner to tighten the bun?*

"It is not for discussion," Seven-B'Elanna replied coolly, turning to interface with the alcove. "Computer, begin regeneration sequence."

*Will I feel anything?*

Seven-B'Elanna pondered, "I am not entirely sure. If you are stored within my cortical array, it is logical to assume you will experience regeneration as I do. I have no previous case study to fall back upon. I believe our situation is unique."

Stepping back, the alcove clicked to life with a gradually building whir. The waking ended abruptly by a harsh three-tone alarm which brought cobalt-blue eyes snapping open, only seconds after closing for the first time through choice in many hours.

"Unable to comply," replied the computer, unhelpfully.

Ocular implant rising to meet forehead, Seven-B'Elanna fought back the tide of weariness which threatened to wash over her; it had been longer than even truly tolerable without regeneration and she had grown well beyond weariness and fatigue. "Computer, state the nature of the malfunction."

"Cortical array activity is beyond the tolerances of this unit."

Stepping back down from the dais the ex-drone sighed, allowing her shoulders to sag. Crossing to the workstation in front, she set about ascertaining the nature of the problem whilst a slightly interested half-Klingon watched.

*What's the problem?*

"I believe your presence within my cranial implants has exceeded the safety tolerances of my alcove; the unit may believe my implants have been compromised and that any energy transfer might cause their catastrophic failure. I am attempting to bypass the safety protocols."

*Is that a good idea? I mean, aren't your cranial implants pretty busy with the both of us here?*

"It is precisely because of that," Seven began, "That I require regeneration - I am extremely fatigued Lieutenant Torres."

*B'Elanna*

"Excuse me?"

*We're in serious trouble if we can't be on a first-name basis whilst sharing a body. Besides, in our current situation … a command structure isn't going to do us much of a favour, is it?*

"I will comply, B'Elanna."

"Unable to comply," Added the Computer.

Seven silenced the panel with obvious frustration; "It seems I will be unable to regenerate. B'Elanna, do you wish to visit your quarters? I have nothing more to do here."

*Sure Seven, I'd like to take a shower and … oh, shit.*

"Is there a problem?" Seven asked, frowning.

*Well, it isn't really my body to shower with … damn it, this is difficult to deal with …*

"B'Elanna" Seven interrupted, "We are sharing the same space. When you have control my body is as yours - it is illogical to think you will be able to deal with our situation in any other way. Until we are separated, we are essentially equal partners."

*So, we'll spend the night at my place?*

"If that is your wish, I cannot imagine you have any desire to remain in the cargo bay."

B'Elanna had already taken control of those long, trailing legs before Seven had finished issuing her offer and question. Marching the lanky blonde from alcove to exit in moments, and out towards home sweet home and a chance to relax in familiar surroundings.

...

* * *

...

B'Elanna-Seven threw herself onto the couch, sighing loudly as she slumped into the cushions. Frowning, she shifted herself about, trying to find a comfortable spot where usually no effort was required. After a couple of seconds of shifting, her frown deepened.

"I can't seem to get comfy," she moaned, still grinding her back against the couch.

*My spinal clamps alter the natural curvature of the human vertebrae; in conjunction with my abdominal implant, it makes seating for long periods of time difficult and uncomfortable. It is why I prefer to stand.*

"Geez Seven, it feels like there's a pole in my back - Computer, reduce lighting by eighty percent."

B'Elanna-Seven bolted upright . "Seven, why can I still see like I'm under twin suns?"

*My occular implant has compensated for the reduction in light - It is quite efficient.*

"No doubt," she grumbled. "Can it be turned off?"

*If you concentrate, you can resist the compensation.*

A contended sigh revealed success, and despite the busyness within her mind, B'Elanna drifted to sleep; dispensing to dreams and oblivion the worries and stresses of a most peculiar day.

...

* * *

...

B'Elanna awoke to another's touch, one she found familiar. Her drooping eyelids failed to see what her body screamed, as a hand gently rubber her right breast to the point of exciting the accompanying nipple. The half-Klingon moaned, as another hand began to massage the neglected neighbour; arching her back slightly to urge the fondling onwards.

"You're bigger than I remember …"

The massaging had escalated to kneading, and B'Elanna stretched her arms outwards around the back of the familiar stranger, urging him towards her. She felt the throbbing of an erection on her inner thigh, and opened her legs, welcoming the arousal incarnate. She edged herself downwards as feeling the almost-hot flesh press at the silvery juncture of the biosuit.

Realisation flooded back to her, and B'Elanna jumped to her feet with such sudden velocity as to force her visitor to crumple backwards and yell in surprise. Taking a moment to compose herself, she felt her faculties return somewhat.

"Computer, lights - maximum illumination."

The dazzled form of Tom Paris, trousers resting around his knees and underwear absent without leave, became visible struggling on the floor. He looked up, and his mouth formed a wide ring of utter horror and abject terror.

"Holy shit! Seven! What the fuck are you doing in my quarters? I mean … Oh God, I wasn't trying to … I thought you were B'Elanna … I'm going to be tried for rape … I'm going to be strapped to the hull and used as a keel …"

"Tom!" Seven barked, gathering his panicking eyes in his. "It's B'Elanna … I wasn't expecting you back until tomorrow."

"We finished up our holo-vacation early … Hold on. What the fuck … B'Elanna?"

"There was an accident, yesterday. Me and Seven were attacked with some sort of neural disruptor … it's had an odd effect Tom …"

Ensign Paris continued to listen, as he gave thought to his respectability and pulled up his trousers. "You're not Seven?" He repeated. "Don't you think that's the sort of important thing someone like your Husband should be made aware of?"

"I'm lying in Sickbay … that is to say, my body is. I'm seemingly trapped in Seven's cortical array, some side-effect of the weapon."

"Can I have a drink?" Tom asked honestly, only now recovering a heartbeat below a technical medical emergency.

B'Elanna-Seven nodded, about to ask for one also, before remembering the intolerance Seven's body held for synthehol. "Tom, we're going to have to make some changes for a while. What just happened is a good enough reason to give each other some space until I'm back in my own … state of mind."

Tom downed the whiskey almost before it had materialised fully. "I agree, I'd rather not spend the next fifty years in the brig for attempted rape."

B'Elanna-Seven nodded, finding the edge of the couch she had abandoned suddenly a few minutes before, and perching. She caught the questioning glance from her fiancé and decided to pre-empt his obvious line of questioning.

"I don't think she knows Tom … or at least, she isn't letting on. That woman's a mystery wrapped in an enigma though; I don't know what she's thinking most of the time, and we're sharing the same brain."

Tom nodded dumbly, and replicated a second, third and fourth drink.

...

* * *

...

**To Be Continued ...**


	3. Chapter III : Beauty, Eye and Beholder

_Pairing : B'Elanna / Seven_

_Rating : Mature_

_Feedback : I took the time to write it, so do me the honour of taking the time to respond when you read it._

* * *

_Chapter III : Beauty, the Eye and the Beholder ..._

* * *

B'Elanna stooped over the basin; squinting as the lights set within the rim illuminated automatically, shining on her oddly alabaster hands. Bringing the refreshingly cold water upwards she gasped as the stinging numbness spread across her face, rubbing her eyes as if that might banish the weariness she felt and allow her to concentrate.

Tom Paris had left several moments beforehand, having finished his tenth drink and being informed by the replicator that he had exceeded the maximum amount of alcoholic intake in any one twenty-four hour period. He had left still apologising profusely, failing to wipe the look of pure shock still adorning his features.

"Seven?" She asked aloud, drying the water with the aid of the towel whil giving the ocular and starburst implants wide birth almost as if she feared they might not be waterproof. "Are you awake?"

_*I am always awake Lieutenant Torres—I regenerate; I do not indulge in the inefficiency of sleeping. Though from what I have observed in the minutes preceding, I do not believe you or Mister Paris are precisely aware of what that entails.*_

A mesh-encased hand rubbed the back of a taut neck. "I can explain Seven, it wasn't nearly as bad as it looked—Tom's not at fault, he sure as hell didn't have fore-knowledge anything this crazy had happened and as for me … I guess I forgot whose body I was sharing."

B'Elanna-Seven smirked, a curious sight if anyone had been in range to see the Ex-drone crack a most uncharacteristic grin. Her smile faded as the limb encased in spiralling metal began to spasm slightly, as though being shaken by some invisible force and acting on a will not entirely her own.

_*I am not amused lieutenant; I do not take kindly to being abused for the purposes of fulfilling your sexual desires or needs. If you truly had need of such a craven act, could you not first have discussed it? It may have been possible for The Doctor to produce a more powerful suppressant and give you `personal time.'*_

B'Elanna-Seven's mouth dropped open, baulking. "You're not insinuating that I would have sex with Tom in your body!"

_*You are married Lieutenant Torres—it would be naive of me to believe your urges have disappeared simply because you are neurologically misplaced. I am not so inconsiderate as to deny you that which you require, to maintain the health and wellbeing of your marriage.*_

"I'm not entirely sure what disturbs me more," The Half-Klingon grumbled. "That you'd be willing to let someone use your body in that fashion, or that you'd think I'd take advantage of the opportunity. I don't intend have anything to do with … That, Seven. Nothing at all."

_*What I observed upon the couch would seem to disagree, yet if that is how you wish to proceed, it is acceptable. Whilst I realise you are experienced in matters of sexuality my body is not. I do not think it would stand up to the punishment inflicted upon it by yourself and Mister Paris during copulation.*_

Cobalt blue eyes bolted their gaze to the bathroom mirror, narrowing slightly whilst lips parted to issue a rebuttal, and then thought better. "I can't believe you just said that Seven; so wrong on so many levels that I just can't pick a place to start. The Nymphomaniac Klingon slut trapped in a Barbie Borg, huh?"

The spasm increased, until it became so pronounced that B'Elanna-Seven clamped her free arm down on the shuddering wrist, trying to pin it still and failing. Sighing, the blonde exited the bathroom and returned to the living area, avoiding the couch that had been so infamous earlier and settling on a recliner.

"Would you like a turn?" B'Elanna asked, tiring of the unpleasant attempts of Seven to restrain her desire for control.

A long pause followed, interspersed by the gradual decreasing of spasms until such time as B'Elanna-Seven was able to flex the artificial limb perfectly; as if it were irony aside, her own hand. *That will not be necessary lieutenant—if I cannot regenerate in light of the current situation, there is nothing I have to attend to.*

"Well I don't know about you, but I'm beat—all my whoring has tired me out for the night. Think we could see ourselves clear to take a shower? I'll close my eyes."

B'Elanna could feel indignation flow through her being, slightly surprised that her ability to not only hear Seven but also read her feelings was becoming clearer and more resonant. Assuming the punctuated silence was an affirmative, she guided the former Borg back to the bathroom and activated the sonic shower.

B'Elanna stood frozen for a moment as she tried to work out the best way, any way, of removing the Biosuit. It had never occurred to her in countless arguments, meetings and short encounters to ascertain how the young woman entered and exited her clothing—for all Torres knew it was freshly spray painted on nightly.

_*There is a clasp at the rear of the neck lieutenant, unhook and pull the zipper in a downwards fashion.*_

Fumbling for a moment and finally locating it, the Chief Engineer's mind only realised she was about to gaze upon the full and unashamed body of Seven in time to observe her hands make short work of the zipper. A waft of air followed, rushing into the valley of Seven's and by proxy, her own, chest. Swiftly suppressing her interest and embarrassment B'Elanna pushed the suit down to the waist; freeing a pair of creamy, plentiful breasts each crowned by a nipple still erect and engorged from Tom Paris' earlier fondling.

Kicking off high heels the removal of the Biosuit was very swiftly achieved, with B'Elanna doing her up most not to a linger her eyes upon the Blonde's shapely thighs, or her almost bare sex – dotted as it was with only a few blonde curls. One could hardly blame The Doctor for finding no reason to linger in such a location.

"You know Seven," B'Elanna began as she climbed into the shower cubicle. "I've got a front-row seat to Deck Fourteen's communal wet dream."

_*They wish to copulate with me?*_

"They're a desperate bunch down there," she chuckled, before realising the crudeness of her opening words. "What they wish and what they'll get are two entirely different things. Besides, No late night tête-à-tête while I'm staying … Previous incident apart."

Whilst lost in conversation B'Elanna had begun to lose focus as to her situation and the uniqueness of the circumstance which found her in the shower. Hands rubbed arms, elbows and shoulders before skipping over a very prominent chest. Turning around, she ran a hand over the firm thigh and smooth globe which formed part of a pert and flawless rear; trailing the fingers round and back up front.

_*I appear to be aroused, though this is the first instance and as such, I cannot be sure.*_

The words acted as a reality check, bringing B'Elanna back to her senses and snapping the errant limbs to forced sides. Several seconds further passed and it occurred that Seven might be indulging in a bizarre form of humour and revenge for the earlier incident. Settling staying silent in the hope of encouraging nothing more, the Half-Klingon settled on her inherent engineering curiosity, as eyes followed the mesh which encased Seven's left arm.

It occurred to B'Elanna that she had never seen the spiralling metal beyond what little the cuff of Seven's Biosuit had revealed to others. The tendrils continued for some time up the lower arm, terminating in a final dive beneath the elbow joint where they seemed to bolt directly to the joint and marking where the truly human limb began. Snaking patches of grey flesh baring the familiar pallor of Borg skin intermingled with the flawless white—from these pools legions of tendrils snaked beneath the near-translucent marks.

Upon the shoulder of the same arm a starburst implant, similar to that fastened to her cheekbone but larger, erupted from the fragile skin; eight steel points anchored directly to the Brachial clamp replaced the Human clavicle and enabled the use of the limb.

Yet the most obvious aspect of the technological intrusion in Seven's body remained the Abdominal implant, which anchored itself to the lower ribs on both sides of the spinal column. Bands of malleable metal forming circles which were plainly visible, fusing directly as they did with the flesh on the right, and only slightly more than undetectable on the left side. Interlacing these bands almost imperceptible patterns of circuitry traced beneath the skin, which itself had become translucent as if almost to facilitate their visibility and better access.

A circular implant dominated by two anchoring arms extending from its polar north and south lay mounted on the right thigh, linked to the thigh by a single tubule burying itself into the hamstring and beyond view. A third and final starburst implant lay nestled and screwed to the anklebones of each foot.

_*I do not see why you wish to observe my implants further Lieutenant; they have not changed form since they were first grafted to me, and they will continue to remain in the same state until I am deactivated. If you desire a more in-depth engineering overview, The Doctor can make my medical files available to you.*_

B'Elanna scoffed, "I've no need to see your medical files Seven—I'm just interested to see the extent of the Borg technology and how it interacts with your body. Besides, it isn't as if I get the opportunity to study this sort of thing frequently."

_*I must ask you again to stop Lieutenant Torres,*_ Seven reiterated, before pausing in mid-sentence._ *I do not feel comfortable underneath your scrutiny.*_

B'Elanna resisted the urge to berate herself for the level of disregard she had shown, in treating Seven's body as nothing more than an engineering conundrum and privately, her own failure to be instantly abhorred with such a way of thinking. "Sorry Seven, didn't think—time to get changed for bed anyway."

Though she said nothing, B'Elanna felt Seven's approval, and exited the cubicle.

...

* * *

...

Kathryn Janeway swallowed the final lukewarm dregs wallowing at the bottom of her cup, setting it on the command console and noting the late hour and building migraine. Both of which had conspired to force the unusual move of bringing her coffee to the bridge, instead of retreating to the ready room. To her left the First Officer's chair lay vacant, as it had been for the preceding five hours since a weary Chakotay had finally accepted his failure in an unlikely goal to persuade the Captain to retire also.

"Perhaps it would be wise to get some rest Captain," Tuvok suggested, for perhaps the third time in a single hour. "Sensors are operating at maximum range, and all extraneous emissions have been cut. If it is possible to detect their warp signature, which is already severely degraded, then your continued presence will not enhance our abilities."

Janeway nodded, clutching the cup to both hands, only realising it was as empty as her will to remain awake. She rose, stifling the unprofessional urge to yawn and began to climb the short staircase to the second tier.

A shrill beeping focused both her weary eyes and that of Tuvok's stoic gaze. "It appears that logic cannot prevail against Human irrationality; a warp signature has been detected to our starboard quadrant, approximately eleven hours in age and matching the field dynamics of the vessels which attacked Voyager."

Kathryn felt the mental fog lift somewhat, laying a hand on the tactical console and confirming the readings for herself. Feeling a newfound exhilaration she looked at the mug momentarily, before returning to her command chair.

One more cup, she rationalised.

...

* * *

...

It had taken fully twenty minutes for B'Elanna and Seven to settle on the garments they would simultaneously wear to bed— The Chief Engineer favouring boxer shorts and a loose tank top, the former drone seeing nothing wrong with a Biosuit. Finally, a compromise had seen a loose-fitting set of silk pyjamas coloured a fetching shade of sky blue chosen, satisfying the desires of the former for freedom and the latter for minimising flesh exposed.

Crawling into bed and lying down as B'Elanna had done countless times in her life to date, the engineer grunted, tossing to the left and then the right. Taking the fight to the pillow, she fluffed it violently, pounding it not only with the strength of a frustrated Klingon, but the Borg-enhanced abilities she possessed as a bonus.

Sighing with exasperation, she spoke up.' " … Spinal clamps?"

_*They were designed to strengthen and resist the damage the skeletal structure of most humanoid species endures when subjected to extreme long-term standing as Borg drones are required to do, in such activities as regeneration. As a result fatigue, muscle injury and bone damage through the vertical are extremely unlikely. Unfortunately, the lack of flexibility inherent in such a design precludes what you have in mind.*_

"Kahless Seven! It's like I'm strapped to a medi-board or wearing a weightlifting belt! Haven't you seen about having them taken out? They're additions to the spinal cord rather than replacements, right?"

_*Correct Lieutenant, but I do prefer to stand. Perhaps it is habit—I did not `sit' for over ten years of my life. In addition the clamps serve to increase the amount of weight I am able to lift and distribute and as such, removing them would affect my current abilities.*_

"Why would lifting shuttles be of any use?"

Seven scowled internally, _*I cannot lift shuttles, Lieutenant. They are beyond my capability, though I would have no difficulty in carrying your original frame for a considerable period if it were possible to force you to sit still long enough.*_

B'Elanna scoffed, and opened Seven's lips in a wide yawn. Stuffing the pillows to form a makeshift chair backing she sat up slightly, finding the clamps more compliant if the angle was increased. Allowing eyelids to droop, and the incredible events of the day to take their toll in fatigue, sleep came to claim one-half of this bizarre new union.

"Seven …" The Half-Klingon murmured from pale lips.

_*How can I be of assistance, Lieutenant?*_

"Call me B'Elanna …," She whispered,

From beyond the physical and deep within the organic and mechanical, Seven of Nine watched over the slumbering B'Elanna Torres, as of yet neither inclined nor desiring to partake in the humanoid need to lose all semblance of control and surrender to unconsciousness.

Though she could now manipulate her own limbs as the incumbent tenant slipped into dreams, Seven found them sluggish, leaden. She reasoned B'Elanna's mental fatigue had spread to her, absolutely refusing to consider the possibility she too was simply tired. This refusal continued long into the night, kept at bay by the barest hints of warmth and contentment leaking from whatever dream had ensnared the engineer and welcomed by the watchful mind of the analytical, ex-Borg observer.

...

* * *

...

**To Be Continued …**


	4. Chapter IV : Riding the Waves

_Pairing : B'Elanna / Seven_

_Rating : Mature_

_Feedback : I took the time to write it, so do me the honour of taking the time to respond when you read it._

* * *

_Chapter IV : Riding the waves ..._

* * *

The streaking stars being left far behind by the superluminal abilities of the starship Voyager burned their silent fury. The non-Newtonian principles of the Starfleet vessel's faster-than-light propulsion succumbed to the laws of physics—nacelles previously tasked with the vital generation of a warp field now spectators and burdens to the saucer-mounted impulse engines, which took over the interstellar journey.

Providing an effective barrier against the warp drive, an almost impassable maze of dark, splintered rock hung amidst the depths of the void; irregular, torn asunder and assorted shapes one might deem madness in consideration of thrusting, arching spires utterly impossible but for the lack of gravity between worlds. The larger asteroids span lazily about poorly defined axis, cleaving apart only the occasional smaller cousin whom unwittingly came within range of the clawing mountain ranges rising up from uninhabitable surfaces.

Smaller spheres destroyed themselves in cataclysmic explosions of sheared rock and vaporised fragments, releasing spinning debris which survived to make negligible attacks on the larger bodies within the belt. Taking nothing in the way of chance, a furious stream of writhing energy tore from the lower phaser array, detonating several of the perilously close asteroids in a series of powerful bursts.

Tom Paris completed the full-stop with a final sweep of his forefinger on the helm, his part in the chase for the assailants of Seven and B'Elanna in a lull until a decision on what course to take was established. The plucky lieutenant had thus far successfully avoided dwelling on his error the night before, reasoning that if he thought about what had happened he'd need some counselling and with only The Doctor in such a role, the thought hadn't appealed.

"The warp signature continues through the asteroid belt ahead," Harry confirmed. Transferring the data to tactical and the command console, the Ensign frowned at the unpredictability of the objects which made up the belt. "Captain, either their vessel's manoeuvrability puts Voyager to shame, or their deflector technology is second to none."

Janeway slowly rose, pondering the situation; Voyager had seemingly made up for time lost with the trail increasing in intensity, but she had been unprepared for the obstacle ahead—the Intrepid class, though small and for her size nimble was hardly designed for negotiating the complexities and random chaos of a class one asteroid field. The fact that any hope of the recoveries of both Seven and Lieutenant Torres depended on their success did not escape her consideration, either.

"Mister Paris, can you get my ship through this?"

Tom's mental monologue was broken by the question posed, a welcome distraction which filled his inner child—unfortunately also qualifying as his inner pilot—with the wonder such manoeuvres could elicit. "With full phaser support and every last bit of engine power, I think it's possible. I'll need engineering on the ball Captain; there won't be much room for power transfers."

Reluctant to disturb the two crewmembers most able to marshal Main Engineering, yet unwilling to damage the very same pair's chances of finding a resolution to their non-consensual union, The Captain tapped her commbadge; "Janeway to Lieutenant Torres and Seven of Nine."

Seven of Nine reacted instantly to the communication, having been unable to master the art of sleeping in the hours that had passed and electing simply to study the dreams of the Half-Klingon that had bled into her consciousness. Attempting to swing heavy legs round to the side of the bed, she encountered resistance not unlike having been bound to the mattress itself with rope, limbs jerking and partially going into spasm whilst carrying out her demands.

"Seven of Nine, Lieutenant Torres—do you have a problem?"

The blonde deduced that her muscles were receiving conflicting orders from a nervous system attempting to cope with two intellects where it could only have expected to serve one, constantly being interrupted by the unexpected tenant. Focusing her concentration Seven urged B'Elanna from her sleep, abandoning the physical for mental coercion.

"Ten more minutes Seven," She mumbled absently.

"Ladies I appreciate your fatigue, but I'd be even more appreciative if you could spare me a moment."

B'Elanna-Seven's eyes shot open with the stinging lash of embarrassment tingling the ex-drone's cheeks, for the first time in their post-Borg existence. "Sorry Captain—what can I do for you?"

Janeway repressed the urge to flash a smile at the untidy awakening, focusing on the task at hand and painfully aware of the fleeting time. "We're closing in on the warp signature of the raiders' ship but there's an asteroid belt between us and them. Mister Paris is confident he can negotiate it safely, but we need our best people in Main Engineering."

"It just so happens," The Captain continued, "That two of them are occupying the same space. I know you're either not entirely rested or able, but any help you both can render would be of use."

B'Elanna-Seven seized upon the opportunity, her legs propelling the lithe body upwards now that consensus of the neurons was complete. "Right away Captain; me and Seven could use the distraction instead of being cooped up waiting on the Doc."

"Report to Main Engineering when you're both ready, Janeway out."

...

* * *

...

Rising to enter the sonic shower, B'Elanna inwardly frowned as she found herself dragging the bed sheets across the floor, the Borg-enhanced fist locked tightly around the fabric. Pausing, the Chief Engineer found it quite impossible to relinquish the hold, and raised her eyebrow—Seven's occular implant—in confusion; all the more horror-laden for the use of the younger woman's trademark irritation.

_*You are unorganised B'Elanna; we must return the sleeping area to a usable condition or waste time doing so in the evening following—it is inefficient otherwise.*_

"You want to make the bed?" B'Elanna translated, and received the mental image of a nod before shrugging Seven and by proxy, her own shoulders. Throwing the sheet roughly on to the mattress until each corner of the cover was vaguely within distance of its mattress equivalent, she departed only a single step before feeling her legs begin to tremble.

B'Elanna reached over to the nightstand and plucked the hypospray up she had placed there in good foresight the evening before, pressing it to her neck. "Go crazy Seven."

Seven-B'Elanna flexed her hands as though they were but replacements for the originals that very second, stretching each muscle group with a sense that they were only vaguely her own or willing to accept her orders. "You did not take the task seriously, as I do not believe you would ever unknowingly complete a poor job."

_*Well sorry Seven—I'd got it into my tiny mind we had more important places to be, like Engineering, helping to track down the bastards that marooned me.*_

Seven's occular implant rose for the first time at the volition of the true owner; "I sincerely apologise if your stay within my body has not been enjoyable. Feel free to seek an alternative host if you can find one, perhaps your husband? You might therefore share a life, a quarters and a body. A most efficient and Borg-like amalgamation of resources."

_*I see my sense of humour is rubbing off on you, and by that I mean actually giving you one. You didn't even have to assimilate me.*_

"It must be a painful irony," Seven retorted aloud as she smoothed the sheets. "To be forced to inhabit a body so disfigured by that which you so hate."

B'Elanna considered the implications of the word the blonde had used; disfigured, damaged, twisted. The intonation remained the same across the family of the word, implying a hideous and obscene take on the natural order. For the half-Klingon the former was a reluctant truth, for the implants were very difficult to accept as anything more than a perversion or terrible torture inflicted on those who could not resist it. As for the latter B'Elanna agreed wholeheartedly, an obscene kiss to gift any would-be suitor as the Borg almost viewed and treated each prospective drone.

Though she said nothing in response, B'Elanna knew Seven had heard all she had pondered, though no words were spoken by the Chief. It seemed to both now the various barriers and shielding of their two respective minds were becoming more entwined, and more accommodating of each other. What the repercussions, specifically in a medical sense this might yield could only be explained by The Doctor.

They unanimously agreed he would be informed, at their earliest convenience after the work in Main Engineering, again without uttering a word. Satisfied with the state of the bed, and feeling her feet grow heavy though she herself was not tired, Seven accepted the end of her short tenure as dominant personality.

B'Elanna felt herself reasserted, flexing the fists in the same way her companion had done a few minutes beforehand. "Aren't you put out by the time I spend bossing you around, Seven? I'm the interloper here after all."

Though she realised it was now possible to communicate her answer, Seven decided it best to rely on words at least consciously attempted. _*Whilst you are correct B'Elanna, I find it wearying even with the aid of the suppressant to function with your presence, even as a secondary role. The Doctor was correct in that your personality appears to be dominant, and as such has taken up primary residence. It is logical to continue the status quo in that whilst the ship can theoretically survive indefinitely without an Astrometrics Officer, it cannot lose the Chief Engineer.*_

_*The irony of a Borg Drone unable to function with a single voice in addition to their own having been surrounded and linked to trillions is not lost on me, though I rationalise this by knowing that even if I succeed in raising your ire once more, you can do no better than strike yourself.*_

Torres mumbled a retort that was perfectly audible to her co-habitant mentally, before reaching to the replicator for more appropriate working wear. Already an internal `debate' on why the biosuit would not be making a reappearance had started and the Chief Engineer wondered briefly how they would ever leave the quarters, let alone achieve anything that day.

...

* * *

...

Nicoletti logged the result of the warp field calibration tests for the Chief Engineer's daily review, though it had been the fourth time she had done so without it being read or acknowledged. Silencing the panel she crossed in front of the thrumming reaction chamber, her eyes still drawn to the intermingling ribbons of colour which marked one of the most violent reactions yet witnessed by man—the annihilation of Matter and it's most opposite number in an energetic apocalypse. Despite the huge number of times she set eyes upon it, the magnitude of the power being released to the warp plasma network was never lost on her.

The young engineer had been on duty during Voyager's infamous Core ejection, and from that day had always understood the delicate balance such technology maintained between the revolution that was faster-than-light travel, and the dangers of absolute destruction … As so many Starfleet vessels and her crews had experienced and never lived to learn from.

Acting Chief of Engineering Vorik interrupted Nicoletti's ponderings. "Have the warp field calibrations been filed, Ensign?"

She nodded, "Just this minute completed Sir. I was about to take a repair team to give the starboard nacelle its internal check-up."

"That will have to wait for a more convenient time," He countered matter-of-factly. "Voyager is about to traverse a class one asteroid belt, and will require the entirety of the Alpha shift to be present in Main Engineering and oversee the manoeuvres and any side-effects they might have."

The Vulcan continued; "Ensign Kim shall be monitoring the stability of the forward shield emitters, report to him and assist in any way he sees fit."

Nicoletti nodded her understanding, and picked up a tool kit propped up against a supporting diagonal beam. A surge of adrenaline and the accompanying anxiety coursed through her veins, with the excitement and uncertainty of duties beyond simple maintenance. Departing Engineering and entering the turbolift at the end of the corridor of deck fifteen, she almost walked straight into the incumbent. Tal Celesse.

"Someone's eager," the Astrometrics crewmen ribbed. "Are you Chief Engineer yet, or do you have to assassinate Vorik first?"

Nicoletti grinned, "Actually I'm pulling a shift with Harry—hobnobbing with the Bridge Officers and the such; working my way to Commodore."

"I don't think Commodores serve on Starships Nic," Tal mused. "If they don't, we'll be leaving you on some god-forsaken Demon-class planet to serve out a term of duty on our inaugural Delta Quadrant Star base."

The Engineer scoffed. "And where exactly are you heading to? Cleaning out plasma conduits? Fixing Neelix's burner? Fixing Neelix's passion for gut-dissolving spices?"

"I'm going to the bridge," she beamed. "Filling in for Astrometrics while McDouglas does the dirty work in the lab—I'm team leader while Seven recovers from … well … your Chief Engineer. B'Elanna scares the wits out of me and I've only been in Engineering a handful of times; usually accompanying Seven out of some possible sadism she reserves for challenging the Lieutenant to verbal sparring, with us peons in the crossfire."

Nicoletti gasped in mock outrage. "I think it's our Chief recovering from your Astrometrics Officer. Pity be the mortal who crosses Sev's path and pity be the engineering crew in proximity to that mortal, who's also their boss, being called into question in their home territory."

She rubbed her temple, sighing. "That's one aspect of the Chief's absence I would vote to be given indefinite leave. It's amazing they never escalated to violence—I've been about ready to call Tuvok and a couple of type-three phaser rifles a couple of times myself."

"From the safety of underneath your diagnostics station?" Tal ribbed, half-seriously using her hands to feign away Nicoletti's weak attacks with the tool kit. "So Harry eh? He's as cute as a button."

"I don't think he much likes it when crewmen don't take him seriously—`Hey cutie, has anyone said you look adorable today? I just wanna' eat you all up."

Tal giggled. "So sixty thousand light years from home is all it took to turn Academy All-Star Maria Nicoletti into a slut. I am disappointed Ensign, such a promising career wasted in an orgy of lust and desire …"

The Engineer smiled, "You're talking but all I hear is jealousy Tal—green really suits you."

The bridge-officer-for-a-day pouted as the turbolift stopped before deck eight. Nicoletti hugged her huffing friend as she departed, unable to resist a final parting barb.

"Try not to activate the self-destruct sequence by using the bridge replicator dear."

The doors closed firmly before the growling Tal Celesse could finish her foul tirade.

...

* * *

...

The doors to Main Engineering opened to admit a familiar enough figure in extremely unfamiliar attire, attracting a single glance from each crewman present until a suitably un-Borg-like glare persuaded them to find something less dangerous to do. Seven was clad in a tasteful dress ending just below the knees, with a hem that flared slightly into semi-transparent leaves of dark blue fabric.

Over the dress a short, thin jacket held together by two black buttons ended at the waist, covering both arms to the elbows with a translucent purple material. Long blonde tresses tied in a loose ponytail which reached almost to the waist complimented a custom-piece of many argued minutes' creation.

"Welcome back on duty, Lieutenant Torres and Seven of Nine. The Bridge is standing by for our readiness and engineering teams are in place monitoring the dorsal, ventral and forward shield emitters. The result of a class two diagnostic on the sensor array is ready for your inspection."

B'Elanna had never appreciated Vorik and by extension the infallible if irritating Vulcan logic any more than that moment, with the anticipated difficulty the crew might have interacting with Seven and B'Elanna as they co-inhabited, the former acting-Chief had been a welcome icebreaker.

B'Elanna-Seven deployed both hands to the diagnostic station mounted on the handrail surrounding the warp core. "Good job Vorik, let's get this show on the road and my body out of bed."

Those brave enough stole a second glance at the entirely `relaxed' Speech emanating from the stoic and clipped mouth of a notorious forgoer of the casual. "Main Engineering to Bridge—we're standing by down here on your orders."

_*I predict a need for twelve percent more power to the dorsal emitters,*_ Seven interjected.

"Sounds good," B'Elanna answered aloud, though mentally she had reviewed her compatriot's explanation for the suggestion and agreed. For the crew surrounding and listening on the active commlink, it was difficult to ignore the oddness in hearing the half-Klingon repeat only half a conversation.

On the Bridge, Chakotay accepted the nod by the Captain as he stood behind Tom, leaning over the helm slightly. "Take us in Mister Paris, at your discretion for course and speed."

"Phasers standing by," Tuvok added without raising his eyes from the myriad targeting vectors and trajectories he had calculated, and was still calculating, with the aid of the computer and the sensors not tied directly to the helm.

As though a horse urged into the dark of night by the will of a brave, or perhaps foolhardy rider, Voyager crept into the belt which lay ahead—the navigational lights upon the hull casting odd shadows against the asteroids which passed harmlessly out-with the impromptu `safety zone' Tuvok had tasked the sensors with maintaining.

Unlike a horse, the Intrepid-Class Starship employed more than simple speed for defence, as a single beam of energy freed itself from the confines of the targeting rim and took the merest milliseconds to impact and shatter a looming projectile. The resultant spinning debris being promptly vaporised by a second, low-power phaser sweep from a secondary emitter on the saucer.

Seven-B'Elanna glanced at the various LCAR screens displaying navigational, tactical and sensor data. Regarding the sensors less attention was devoted, with the considerable processing capacity of Voyager's computer mostly concerned with such. The alabaster features of Seven were instead primarily concentrated on balancing the plasma power transfer between impulse engine banks; the automated flight nominals having been disabled due to their slowness in reacting to high-stress spacial manoeuvres.

_*Port forward bank increase zero eight percent, starboard forward decrease point seven.*_

Lithe fingertips danced over the Starfleet-standard interface, making minute adjustments which combined to increase the overall efficiency and hand Tom maximum manoeuvrability. Singly a task taxing to perhaps either Seven or B'Elanna alone but combined, manageable. Just about.

A violent shuddering which grew to a torturous quaking seemingly put paid to any self-belief, as the navigational monitor flickered to nothingness for a period of seconds. "Impact!" B'Elanna-Seven urged into the open commlink—"Forward shields down to fifty three percent!"

Chakotay staggered back to the relative stability of his chair, eyes finding Tuvok's and questioning the incident.

"A rogue orbital path the Computer was unable to project, and thus fail to react to the situation promptly. The randomness of the belt is beginning to tax the Computer's processing capabilities; we require more projection facilities."

Seven had already suggested the possibility, even as Tuvok moved to narrow the Computer's search radius in an effort to free up additional processing space. "B'Elanna and Seven to Ensign Kim."

Harry took several moments to respond, partially because of the odd transmission of the signal and secondly because of the considerable cut on his forehead caused by a loss of footing during the previous impact. He glanced at Nicoletti, grimacing as she was at her own heavy handling, but none the worse for wear. "Kim here."

"Harry, you and Nicoletti need to tie your auxiliary monitor into the sensors and start looking for asteroid orbit paths—the Computer's struggling with the random rocks, and we'll be lucky to take another hit like that one and still be around to do anything about it."

The ship shuddered almost imperceptibly as the main phaser emitter discharged again. "Understood, we'll do our best—Kim out."

Tom grimaced as he pulled the nose of the Saucer up sharply, the internal Dampeners whining their protest at the gravitational forces being exerted upon the ship as a whole. A second and harsh vibration signalled another impact, though much smaller and taking only a bite from the shields rather than the fragile hull itself.

"Almost there," he whispered through clenched teeth, leaning to one side as though his body directly influenced the direction of the ship he steered. No sooner had Tom completed the latest nose-up than a smaller fragment of black and splintered rock impacted just forward of the Bridge, sending all except the anchored helmsman to the floor violently.

...

* * *

...

"Forward shields are buckling!" B'Elanna yelled to anyone who cared to listen, protecting her face as the console in front of her sparked in anger at the treatment it was receiving.

"There is a power surge in progress Lieutenant," Vorik stated dispassionately from aside. "Plasma conduits on decks two, six, eight, nine twelve and fifteen have blown out."

The Chief Engineer, or Seven's body at the least, swore proficient Klingon before spinning from her now useless and smouldering station. Taking in Vorik's report a pale hand tapped the commbadge pinned to her jacket. "B'Elanna and Seven to Kim—report on damage and condition."

The silence which greeted the commlink urged the ex-drone to try again. "B'Elanna and Seven to Ensign Nicoletti. Respond."

"Medical emergency in forward deflector control!" She yelled, having scarcely allowed the Computer time to process her statement and alert Sickbay. Crossing in front of the Warp Core the Chief Engineer activated a secondary station, setting about working out the latest frustration to the ship and her crew.

Janeway struggled to her feet and seeing the unconscious body of Samantha Wildman manning the science station, leapt to her aid. Crouching down to the decking and sure of a steady pulse if little else, she tapped her commbadge to announce a medical emergency Chakotay joined her to watch the unconscious woman freeing the Captain to take the science station.

Her face hardened. "Tuvok there's a starship killer closing. Entering our proximity field now—deal with it!"

Tuvok's eyebrow raised as his console squawked negatively. "I cannot comply Captain, the damage to the power distribution grid has taken Main Phasers offline. At this range a photon detonation would overwhelm our shields and eliminate us as well as the asteroid, and there is no time to modify a warhead for a lower yield."

"Collision warning, thirty seconds to impact," announced the Computer as if none had noticed the perilous object.

Tom growled in frustration. "It's too fast Captain, not enough time to take us around!"

B'Elanna and Seven literally worked with the speed and ability of a single unit, but it did not seem to be enough. They furiously worked to find a re-route through the blown and useless plasma conduits and bring the Phasers back online, before the ship and everything on it was cleaved apart. Working frantically and in part because of the distinctly un-Borg-like tenant, a thin sheen of sweat cropped across the Blonde's forehead.

"Collision warning, ten seconds," Counted the Computer for what seemed its final audio announcement, before it was rendered down unto its components and scattered about deep space.

A repeating, shrill three tone alarm on Tuvok's console brought first his eyes and then fingertips to attention. "Power to Phasers restored, targeting asteroid."

Janeway gripped the sides of the science station grimly, as Chakotay cradled the unconscious Wildeman underneath him. Demanding all their attention, the view screen stood useless; long since enveloped by the approaching rock. It granted a view only of imminent destruction at the hands of an enemy not Hirogen, or Borg, or Malon or even a fearsome celestial phenomenon, but an airless and barren ball of scoured rock.

Almost before the shields flared in momentary resistance against an ultimately irresistible force, two fierce daggers of brilliant orange light burst forth and speared the asteroid asunder. The phasers drove through the heart of the cold monster and shattered it into a hundred thousand shards of razor sharp rock ,which scythed painfully against the screaming deflector envelope.

Consoles blew out spectacularly as primary systems failed utterly, starved of power or simply overloaded by the tremendous and almost unsustainable battle against the debris of the starship-killer. Lighting overhead flickered and died as the last of the immediately available energy was drained, plunging the Bridge, Main Engineering and almost the entire ship into darkness lifted only by the red alert tapers.

Janeway prised herself from the science station and returned to the command chair, settling into it with a loud sigh as secondary power systems restored limited lighting and function. "Report!"

"Shields have failed, considerable buckling of the hull plating on deck six and seven, multiple plasma conduit failures and fires as well as stress damage to the inertial dampeners. We have however cleared the asteroid belt, and I am detecting a vessel entering visual range. It is travelling away from Voyager at warp three, but appears to be at the limit of its propulsion capability. It matches the profile recorded by the sensors during the earlier attack on the ship."

Kathryn crossed her legs, narrowing her eyes at the view screen which still showed only the never-ending field of stars making up the Delta Quadrant and the Milky Way beyond. "Have anyone with engineering training or experience assigned to damage repair teams Chakotay; they may be no faster than one of our shuttles but I won't let them build any more of a distance between us than I absolutely have to."

The damage to Voyager would be repaired in time, and the prize for such a hard chase was slowly but irrevocably closing. "On screen Mister Tuvok—Maximum magnification."

...

* * *

...

**To Be Continued …**


	5. Chapter V : A merry chase, indeed

_Pairing : B'Elanna / Seven_

_Rating : Mature_

_Feedback : I took the time to write it, so do me the honour of taking the time to respond when you read it._

* * *

_Chapter V : A merry chase, indeed ..._

* * *

Dusting the metallic shards which still clung stubbornly to the sleeves of his uniform, the ever stoic Vorik impassively regarded the chaos which had enveloped Main Engineering. Shadows danced across the diagonal struts which held the upper tier from the lower, exploiting their free reign in the absence of functioning overhead lights. Only the drifting ribbons of colour visible through the magnetic constriction elements of the warp core bade the darkness not to enter, stifled by the damage inflicted and a muted reminder of former power.

Crossing to the nearest station not either buried beneath smouldering wreckage or shattered into razor-sharp fragments of glass, the Vulcan familiarised himself with the state of the ship or rather, what systems continued to report any functionality.

B'Elanna-Seven sighed; a mixture of fatigue and intense frustration stemming from two occupants and their mutual irritation of the damage yet again inflicted on the starship. Surveying the blasted remains of the warp field monitor which stood as little more than a mound of blackened and twisted components, the ex-drone watched her colleagues—beginning with Vorik—scramble and pull themselves to standing.

Placing a hand on the rail surrounding the warp core itself, B'Elanna-Seven patted the painted metal. "She's taken a beating from the quadrant's best, worst and ugly and still comes back for more."

_*It is a vessel with finite abilities and limited capacity to endure—if such capacity is overcome, Voyager would be destroyed irrespective of any belief in the supernatural, or supra-inanimate. Your skills whilst impressive cannot deny the inescapable facts of reality.*_

B'Elanna twisted Seven's forehead into a frown whilst tapping idly with a single hand on a station nearby, "Looks like there's one casualty of the rock-dodging not so easily replaced with a new gel pack or weld."

Seven would have raised an eyebrow to meet hairline, had they responded to her nervous system's commands. _*Elaborate.*_

"Your sense of humour," the engineer replied with a grin the full lips baring it were not used to. "Such a waste, and I really thought I might be rubbing off on you."

Any retort was delayed by the intervention of Vorik, as he paused before the ex-drone with a curt nod and no hesitation in accepting the odd situation of his superior being displaced in body to her rival and usual tormentor. "I have dispatched available repair teams Lieutenant, however a considerable number of engineers are in Sickbay and unable to discharge their duties."

Admitting to not only her own fatigue, but that of her mental companion despite the ex-Borg's insistence that she was operating within normal parameters, Torres decided on killing two birds with one stone. "I'll head to Sickbay and check on our personnel—you're in charge until further notice, focus on the primary systems and do your best to clean this place up."

Vorik opened his mouth to question the logic of placing cleanliness above functionality, but thought better. Challenging a temperamental Klingon in the body of a former Borg drone was most definitely not logical.

The Doctor would have rubbed his eyes in weariness, were the eyes and the weariness they suffered from anything more than photons reinforced with tactile force fields. Surrounding the primary observation bed each lesser biobed stood occupied with the wounded and unconscious; plasma burns, broken bones, internal bleeding and a myriad other complaints amidst the groaning and sighing.

The scene had been replayed countless times amidst countless battles and The Doctor had carried out his programming to the letter in each. Wounds were healed, trauma reset and the terrible dangers of an existence in space negated until the next impending disaster; a circle of encounters and their consequences played out until the latter overcame the former and all was lost.

Pressing a hypospray to the pale neck of the prone Nicoletti, and satisfied the monitor mounted above her head on the bulkhead signalled well for her recovery, the hologram stepped gingerly over the slumbering injured strewn across the floor for want of available biobeds. Retreating to the relative serenity of his office, Voyager's Chief Medical Officer retrieved a padd from the desk and studied its contents.

Contained within his computer-generated hand lay the sum of information known concerning Seven and B'Elanna's current fusion in one body, and the total progress made towards their division back into two utterly separate and unique individuals. Casting it back down to the tabletop The Doctor bemoaned the poor progress he had made. The few treatments explored as options discounted as too far-fetched or simply unable to guarantee the recovery of two personalities, rather ensuring only one as simulations had suggested.

...

* * *

...

"Penny for your thoughts, Doc?"

The Emergency Medical Hologram traced the interruption to the head of Ensign Kim, peering round the bending bay windows of the office which looked out on to the rest of the Sickbay and the patients filling it to over-capacity. "You should be in bed Mister Kim, before someone else takes it and relegates you to the floor. As you might have noticed, space is at a premium."

The young bridge officer grinned—or would have if the dermoplastic bandages nurturing the plasma-scarred tissue beneath permitted such a movement—and shrugged. "I wasn't sure if we'd get breakfast in biobed or not. How's Susan doing?"

The Doctor's eyes passed over the occupant lying unconscious upon the farthest biobed, the lines beneath his eyes tightening with the almost imperceptible effort of recalling patient information.

"Ensign Nicoletti took a severe and concentrated impact to the pelvis which caused a near total shattering, twisting the left thigh joint out of alignment and driving bone chips into the Hamstring and Quadriceps muscles respectively; causing serious tears within. The damage was worsened by internal bleeding, and second degree plasma burns to the upper legs."

Harry's grin had faded rapidly as the grim prognosis was announced, his gaze fixed upon the young engineer who had only an hour before joked and small-talked the stifling boredom of the forward deflector control into a tolerable activity. The diagnostic clamshell which normally began beneath the shoulders and ended at the waist was extended, so that it did not terminate until just above exposed ankles. From the shell a number of conduits ran, supplying energy for the anti-gravitic field which prevented the newly fused bones from being pressured by the ship's gravity plating.

The young man lowered his head at the true revelation of the injuries, his brow furrowing in sympathy for the bubbly woman and what seemed a dark future. "Will she walk again?"

"I've carried out the bulk of the emergency surgery necessary," The Doctor began. "However to restore normal function will entail multiple reconstructive surgeries over a period of months, coupled with intensive physiotherapy to relearn the art of walking. It'll be a long path ahead Ensign and on a ship as small as Voyager, it might seem to Miss Nicoletti as though the entire ship has passed her by—she'll need a friend Mister Kim."

Harry nodded, "I suppose I'll consider myself reassigned."

"Very good," The Doctor enthused, "Now back to bed before I begin threatening to use sedatives."

...

* * *

...

B'Elanna-Seven exited the turbolift with just enough hesitation to allow the doors to fully open and prevent a barrier. Striding down the corridor of deck five the tell-tale signs of battle, which so usually failed to imprint upon the lithe young woman, were manifested as obviously as any other member of the crew operating in Main Engineering. Strands of blonde snagged free of the loose ponytail, framing an alabaster face impugned with the streaks of coolant and lubrication fluids from one-too-many conduit breaches and overloads.

Her efficient dress bore a gash along the shoulder from which the slightest visible trace of crimson wept, unnoticed by the striding figure. Yet Seven's pace slowed, as though reaching her destination despite Sickbay being many sections ahead or as if unsure that the very next door might open to reveal a bustling medical bay despite both B'Elanna and the ex-drone recalling precisely the layout of deck five. The word beyond the unfocused and organic cobalt eye began to swim, losing the clarity and resolution forever provided by the occular implant which submitted to none of the weakness of its biological twin.

B'Elanna shook Seven's head and her own by virtue of their sharing, trying to overcome the nausea which had accompanied a bout of intense dizziness. "Someone reinitialise the inertial dampeners," she mumbled.

_*The stability of the ship is not in question,*_ Seven replied internally though her voice seemed slurred beyond normalcy. _*I believe my, our lack of regeneration is having an adverse effect on energy levels. We must restore power levels at our earliest opportunity.*_

B'Elanna shuddered at the thought of any more time spent in Cargo Bay Two; "Can't we just eat a mountain of banana pancakes?"

Seven found that the Lieutenant's emotions were now easily detectable upon her changing moods, and felt the strong wave of desire and affection, not to mention hunger at the mention of the flavoured foodstuff. _*Unfortunately `banana pancakes' whilst desired by you B'Elanna, will not provide energy to my Borg implants which cannot sustain themselves on confectionary.*_

"They might not keep a cortical array powered, or an artificial limb energised, but they taste so good Seven! In fact we've got plenty of replicator rations to spend on proving my hypothesis and introducing your stomach to their delights."

The occular implant rose, ordered upwards by the ex-drone over the Klingon Hybrid's nominal current control. _*I do not believe you have any replicator rations remaining to speak of considering your willingness to bet and traditionally lose them in Ensign Paris' juvenile wagers. Therefore I must assume you are referring to my replicator rations.*_

"What's mine is yours and what's yours…" trailed off the Chief Engineer, Seven's full lips curling in a devilish smile, "… is mine. It's very rude to deny your guests …"

_*Such social protocols were not designed for co-habitation of bodies,*_ Seven interrupted. _*However since you have access to my eidetic memory as well as possessing control of my vocal processors and visual cortex you can successfully pose as me for the purposes of utilising my rations. Therefore I have little recourse but to consent.*_

"I can access your memories?"

_*Indeed, any particular moment, conversation or incident is stored within my cranial implants for later recollection. In the Collective artificial memory centres were the first neural implants to be cultured for pre-adolescent drones; without them recalling the complex instructions any Borg might receive would be impossible, and the ability of the Hive Mind to bestow specialist knowledge on any drone requiring it would be hampered by the finite memory of the particular assimilated species.*_

_*It seems that as the duration of time spent within my cortical array increases, your consciousness is expanding so that it is able to exert influence over the other implants which make up my cybernetic systems. I am also discovering that your base thoughts and raw feelings are detectable to me, almost a current which I can feel and gauge—our thoughts are becoming one.*_

B'Elanna narrowed piercing cobalt eyes, "Was that a joke?"

_*I believe your own humour is infiltrating my consciousness; Borg do not make jokes.*_

"Borg also don't sing `You are my sunshine', play Velocity, take social lessons from a Hologram or scare poor Harry half to death with offers of `copulation'."

Receiving nothing in the way of comeback, B'Elanna declared a victory and negotiated her way through the fatigue which had clouded the senses and onwards towards the end of deck five, and Sickbay. Concentrating on the task at hand, both Seven and the Chief Engineer dismissed the fate of the ship Voyager now closed upon.

_* … How do you know myself and the Doctor sang?*_

B'Elanna grinned, "It's an underground classic Seven—Tom still whistles it when he's in the sonic shower in the mornings."

Seven's retort never found expression, as a corridor-ringing chirping heralded a ship-wide announcement; "Senior officers report to the briefing room."

On this occasion the Klingon curses flowed freely at another interruption, and within the recesses of Borg technology and human neurons, Seven of Nine pondered with passing interest whether her body was now growing comfortable with the diminutive Lieutenant and her emotionally-charged ways. Comfortable after having spent over a decade as a mere vassal for the Borg Collective and afterwards, what remained of Annika Hansen.

...

* * *

...

Tal Celesse poked her head through the open doorway of Sickbay, despite the frame being more than wide enough to step through. Narrowing her eyes, she searched the dozens of unconscious, murmuring, talkative or resting patients filling Voyager's infirmary to the limit. Stepping inside fully the doors behind swished shut soundly, as though taking the very first opportunity to close.

Tal almost succeeded in standing on Crewman Angelo Desoto, formerly of the Equinox, unconscious and prone beneath a thick blanket on the floor for want of biobed space. Muttering an apology wasted on his sleeping form, she gingerly picked a path through the strewn injured, casting a glance at Voyager's acting Chief Medical Officer who sat deep in apparent thought in the relative isolation of the office against the far partition.

Finally her eyes settled on the primary biobed, though the extended clamshell meant identifying the occupant from Tal's current angle was impossible. She traced the device atop the bed, her eyes widening as she took in the chair and the figure sitting aside, and recognised the distinctly Asian features of the ship's youngest bridge officer.

Her surprise was swept away as her negotiation around the perimeter of the bed revealed the head and shoulders of the occupant. Almost all sense of decorum stolen, the young Astrometrics officer ran forwards to the prone form of her friend beneath the layers of medical technology labouring to ease her wounds.

Harry rose to his feet almost automatically, not wishing to intrude upon the moment of reunion, and partially because of his discomfort in unpleasant social situations. "Glad you're unscathed Tal—wish we could say the same for Sickbay."

Snapping herself back to reality, Celesse nodded stiffly, "Astrometrics suffered a few trivial injuries sir, nothing serious."

"At ease," Kim replied, understanding the time for protocol was not now, and glancing at Nicoletti. "She probably saved my life, or at least staved off permanent disfigurement on my part. Reacted quicker to a plasma conduit blowout and got us clear enough to appreciate the pain super-heated plasma can inflict."

Tal could see the angry red of the twisted scar tissue peaking beneath the dermoplastic strips regenerating her superior's face. For a moment she felt guilty at having escaped with nothing more serious than a little loss of balance following extended periods of turbulence.

"You know …" came a voice struggling for volume; "I was about to come looking for you … just as soon as I can find my shoes."

Celesse grinned as she leaned on the biobed, and the blinking eyes of the now-conscious Nicoletti. "Here we are having negotiated a class one asteroid field, taken damage and casualties, and you're sleeping! Trust Suzie to find a bed even amidst rock-dodging."

"The best bed in the house," Kim quipped. "Poor old Maloney is lying over there on the floor, padd in hand, contemplating how best to expand Sickbay so the next time he's levelled by a structural support there's going to be a bed for him to recuperate in."

Susan frowned at the plasters adorning the operations officer, "How's the face sir?"

"Harry is fine," He replied, grinning. "I don't know—I think it makes me look more seasoned, more gnarled, and more dangerous. Maybe Tom will let me play Captain Proton now."

Positioning himself between Harry Kim and Tal Celesse, The Doctor consulted the monitor mounted upon the side of the bed. Moving away to a storage rack, he retrieved a hypospray and loaded a cartridge before pressing it to Nicoletti's neck and injecting the medication.

The engineer managed a smile, "How's my favourite Emergency Medical Hologram? I hope putting me back together hasn't been too much trouble?"

The Doctor for all his recent ponderings and doubts returned a thin smile. "Always a pleasure to welcome you to my Sickbay Miss Nicoletti, even when you've been throwing yourself at plasma conduits."

The call for senior officers over the communication system interrupted the conversation, and reduced those present as Kim excused himself with a good luck wish, and a nod to The Doctor who would remain despite the summoning to care for the high volume of patients.

"He's cute," Tal began with a pseudo-innocent tone. "Working the old Damsel in Distress angle?"

Nicoletti scoffed, "If all it needed were some distress I'd have told him my cat was stuck up a plasma conduit—shattering my pelvis is just overkill. I see not a scratch on your fair skin Miss Celesse, were you in bed whilst the rest of us played Velocity with the bulkheads?"

"I was on the bridge actually, drinking in the atmosphere of command and the subtle pressures of the upper echelons of Starfleet."

"I suppose that's better than soaking up any plasma," The Doctor interjected, "As our own Ensign Nicoletti has yet to discover can have a negative impact on your social life."

Susan's face straightened slightly, "Is it going to be disabling Doctor? Will I have to request dispensation for more rations to replicate new, shorter, uniforms? Can you save my feet? Anything to make sure Tal doesn't get my shoes."

"Humour is an excellent weapon in the pursuit of recovery, though I don't think we'll be calling for the laser scalpel just yet. The damage to the structure, nerves and blood supply of your pelvic region is considerable, and the reconstruction work on the upper legs alone many weeks of surgery even before any thought is given to physiotherapy, but it's treatable and I'm confident that before the year is out you'll be able to rejoin Lieutenant Torres' motley band of engineers."

Celesse baulked and shuffled her feet uneasily, "A year?"

The Doctor sighed, "Had this been a starship in the alpha quadrant then Miss Nicoletti would find herself transferred to a suitably equipped starbase for treatment at the hands of an entire team of surgeons and physiotherapists. As it stands we're fifty thousand light years from such help and in a Sickbay never designed for such a scenario. The only tool to assist other than my own program may be the interactive Starfleet Medical programs stored on the holodeck, but I can't hazard a guess at their effectiveness yet."

Tal laid a hand on Nicoletti's shoulder, "I'll pass word round the departments that you won't be available for the holo-swimsuit championships and that your wardrobe is available for rent. I'm due in Astrometrics—looks like my brush with command glory was short-lived. I'll check in on you at the end of my shift."

She turned, pausing as Susan called out—"Don't touch my shoes Tal, or The Doctor will have two pelvises to mend."

...

* * *

...

The stars twinkled, still and insignificant in the vast blanket of the cosmos which stretched beyond any Human ability to capture and understand. Unlike the superluminal, the Impulse drive conveyed no sense of vast speeds when measured against the ancient orbs of light amidst the black, Voyager creeping in astronomical terms towards its target.

Captain Janeway regarded all this from behind the safety of the expansive windows dominating the briefing room. Though her gaze remained to the outside from the head of the room, the hiss of opening doors betrayed the imminent beginning of the meeting. Turning back and placing hands upon the surface of the teardrop-shaped table, she nodded as Chakotay, Tuvok and Kim took up their seats.

Entering last and a moment after Tom Paris had been relieved to attend, Seven and B'Elanna arrived though the door to admit them opened and closed in sequence only once. Similarly, only a single chair was occupied and the extra seating normally occupied, now empty, was not lost on those assembled. Sensing the oddness Janeway moved to begin.

"I don't want to delay us anymore than necessary, so I'll keep this brief. The ship we're tracking hasn't used the time we spent negotiating the asteroid field wisely—travelling at warp three and making no obvious attempts to evade us. All that's stopping us ending this chase is our own damage; how're the repairs?"

"I have completed re-calibrating the phaser targeting systems," Tuvok began whilst consulting a padd. "The secondary tactical processors are once more functional."

Janeway nodded, "We're prepared for a fight if it comes down to it then, but we won't be doing any fighting until we close the gap on them—status of warp drive?"

The young woman occupying the dual roles of Chief Engineer and Astrometrics Officer leaned back in the chair slightly, frowning in an act understandable in the personality of the former but utterly alien to the stiff and coordinated movements of the latter. "We'll need to replace at least one deuterium injector port, and there's some thermal damage to the reaction chamber—ordinarily I'd say we'd need four, maybe five hours."

B'Elanna-Seven pre-empted their Captain's complaint, "Considering our current situation and the limits we've pushed it to in the past, we can probably give you warp four now."

"There's no indication the ship we're chasing is capable of anything more than its current speed," Chakotay added. "We could probably stretch protocol without too much lasting damage beyond a headache for the engineering team."

The Captain nodded at her first officer's summary, "Protocol wasn't designed to deal with displaced consciousness, and how to correct it. B'Elanna, Seven, if you can manage it I'd like your expertise in Engineering. Commander Tuvok will lead an away team once we've overcome any defences encountered. I'm not ruling out a peaceful resolution to this, but from what I've seen so far I don't think talking will get anything done."

Murmurs of agreement rose from around the table until curtailed by a nod from Janeway. "Tom, make your course an intercept, warp four. All hands to battle stations—dismissed."

...

* * *

...

Though pained from the exertions of the asteroid belt previously, the starship Voyager dutifully acquiesced to the will of her fragile human crew and left far behind the scowling stars relegated to streaks against faster-than-light flight. Only the unheeded reminders of the Computer, ignored by those whom had visited the limits of the technology and returned with the knowledge of its ability, interrupted any operation.

Janeway's hand flittered over the command console as the view screen displayed the rapidly disappearing sector previous to their course. From her master systems overview the rapidly closing distance towards their target was evident, though protocol and the ways of starship command demanded audible briefings.

"The vessel is slowing to sublight speeds Captain," Tuvok announced as he ran through a final tactical diagnostic.

A frown passed Harry Kim's features, "I'm detecting an overload in their propulsion systems … Their warp field has collapsed. Doesn't look like a normal deceleration; some sort of power imbalance. Could be a ruse, Captain."

"Slow to impulse Mister Paris," Janeway ordered whilst scrutinising the sensor information. "Red alert—raise shields, charge Phasers and load photon torpedo launchers."

Tuvok nodded, "Shields nominal, all weapon systems standing by."

Chakotay added a frown to the collective feeling of unease, slowly standing from his chair and crossing down to the helm level. "Harry, any sign of offensive capabilities?"

"Sensors can't penetrate their hull Commander," came the frustrated response. "Metallurgical analysis isn't even coming up with a partial match; it's deflecting anything of detailed resolution. I'm picking multiple openings in the hull plating consistent with launch tubes—possible torpedo launchers."

"Confirmed," Tuvok added. "What may also be disruptor emitters; however sensors cannot achieve sufficient resolution to clarify. The power levels of the alien vessel are fluctuating, with the entirety of the energy spike confined to their warp drive."

Janeway regarded the view screen. The ship visible was barely half the comparable length of Voyager; as though the manta-ray of Earth's oceans given technological form, plates of near-invisible metal curving to form triangular wings swept upwards in permanent vestiges of attack. Where the light of the local system's sun caught the metal it glinted dully, along the axis until the last of the mysterious starship tapered to a tail point. Under slung beneath the wings and sculpted directly to the metal elongated warp nacelles hung impotently, flickering.

"Life signs?" The Captain asked fearing she knew already the answer.

Tuvok shook his head from behind the command chair—"Inconclusive."

Chakotay turned to face Harry, "Transporters?"

Kim's hands flew over his systems monitor, "I'm not detecting any deflector system in operation Commander, and I've got a confirmed transporter lock."

Captain Kathryn Janeway rose to join her first officer as she had done so many times before; narrowing eyes to regard the oddity which had lead Voyager on several light years of chasing. "Tuvok, take an away team and see exactly who is home."

...

* * *

...

**To be continued ...**


	6. Chapter VI : The Mary Celestial

_Pairing : B'Elanna / Seven_

_Rating : Mature_

_Feedback : I took the time to write it, so do me the honour of taking the time to respond when you read it._

* * *

_Chapter VI :The Mary Celestial ..._

* * *

The shimmering blue light, which enveloped the air from decking to ceiling with an ethereal whine, belied the unbelievable technological complexity which allowed atoms and entire beings to be disassembled at their constituent molecular level; reassembled in entirely different  
locations with only the delay of a handful of moments to notice.

Pressing his foot down as he always did despite the incredible precision of the Transporter, Tuvok edged forwards with phaser already drawn.

Scanning quickly left and right and noting the presence of his security officers on either side, the Vulcan tapped his commbadge dutifully. "Tuvok to Voyager; transport was successful. We are aboard the alien vessel."

The twin shafts of piercing light emanating from Tuvok's wrist-mounted torch cut a swathe through a gloomy corridor, whose proportions roughly matched the width and height of their counterparts on Voyager. Yet where the Starfleet ship would (At least in the Alpha Quadrant) maintain the space and cleanliness, already he spied blackened, scorched cargo containers piled up as high as he stood tall. They were arranged so haphazardly on either side that in some places, it was not possible for the team to walk three abreast.

"There are a large number of cargo containers in the corridors for as far as I can see," The Vulcan reported into the active communication circuit. "The containers are in poor condition; most are empty and those that are not appear to contain nothing of recognisable value."

The team continued their trek for many minutes, without ever finding a break in the gloomy darkness and abandoned stores which had greeted them. Eventually the corridor straightened after a myriad of turns, terminating in a set of double doors marked with a simple silver banner. A rudimentary tricorder scan revealed the technology to be comparable to the electromagnetic locks employed on Voyager, but without a functional power source they were as easy to penetrate as pushing the doors apart.

Tuvok's eyebrow rose towards his cropped hairline, as he took in the cavernous bay the security team now found themselves in. The rearmost bulkhead was only faintly visible, despite the adequate lighting provided by the first functional ship's system they'd encountered since arrival; a modest number of ceiling beacons arranged in strips. For all the chamber's size, the Vulcan had to watch his step for the floor was congested with what seemed a hundred-fold number of vaguely torpedo-shaped masses, stacked three or four high.

"We have encountered a large chamber," the Commander began. "It appears to be filled with ordinance of some variety; tricorder scans detect a faint anti-matter residue. They may have been fitted with warheads similar to our Photon torpedoes—but there are no warheads  
in the actual vicinity."

Locating what he believed to be the control responsible for deploying the maintenance gull doors on the body of one torpedo, the Vulcan was the only one of three not to flinch and step back. From below a grey, silent and still face greeted them from within the body of the weapon.

"The torpedoes are full of bodies Captain," the Chief of Security noted grimly. "Everyone in this chamber is dead."

…

* * *

…

_"Molecular analysis complete; likelihood of successful genetic resequencing negligible."_

The Doctor cupped the bridge of his nose, releasing a long and keening sigh as the computer frustrated him for the seventeenth time. For a hologram any display of fatigue was pointless; as long as the holographic emitters remained functional and the run-time from the computer free, his program could not degrade in efficiency. Still, the Emergency Medical Hologram had changed substantially from the factory unit installed as a rather-never-be-used resort.

The Doctor had achieved a remarkable amount in six years. He had reverse-engineered Borg technology, reverse-evolved crewmen and fought any number of devastating viruses and organisms in addition to the more frontier-role of general practitioner in space. Laughably, this wasn't even the first time displaced personalities had come about but on this occasion, he could not begin to fathom a cure.

Consulting his internal chronometer, he sighed one final time. "Computer, deactivate EMH."

…

* * *

…

_*We do not require the interlocks to be functional; they can be bypassed without deactivating the magnetic constriction segments.*_

"You can't be serious!" B'Elanna spat aloud, gesturing at the silver cylinder which rose so proudly in front of them and harboured the secret to faster-than-light travel. "That'd have any Starfleet Corps of Engineering manual committing suicide-by-fire. Even the Maquis wouldn't be so gung-ho without at least a couple of interlocks against the unknown."

_*Restoring the interlocks will require a complete engine shutdown. It will also require partial dismantling of the Anti-Matter injectors; it will take an additional number of hours.*_

B'Elanna brought a mesh-covered hand — her mesh covered hand — to a pale forehead and rubbed it with a grumble. Despite having had hours to practice, the Chief Engineer found it almost impossible to "talk" inside her own head. As such she continued to provide anyone within earshot bizarre entertainment, in the form of a one-sided rant.

"I've made my decision … Our decision. The interlocks are coming back online, and you're going to help me do it!"

Janeway carefully sized up the padd her Chief of Security had supplied. Occasionally she would pause and make eye contact, as if some detail was scarcely believable. The look on the Vulcan's face assured her it was entirely accurate. "Not a single survivor?"

"Four hundred and thirty eight corpses," Tuvok reiterated. "Four hundred and thirty six contained within modified ordinance shells and two on what we believe is the vessel's bridge. The ship itself was in a significantly advanced state of decay; it is in need of critical repairs to the drive system, and has almost entirely exhausted its supply of Anti-Deuterium."

"From what I can gather the ship dropped to sublight speeds after the deflector grid failed, allowing interstellar dust to contaminate their warp field; there was no redundancy. We have been unable to extract anything from their computer system - the technology is considerably "alien" if will forgive the irony. However, I have surmised that no fresh navigational inputs have been entered into their helm for a period of at least eight hours. It is reasonable to conclude the two corpses on the bridge expired at that time."

Janeway nodded. "I'd rather not disturb those in the bay — they've clearly been interned. Transport one of the bridge corpses to Sickbay, along with a copy of the neural disruptor used on Seven and B'Elanna. Post a security team to the ship and take an engineering detail over. I want the engines disconnected and offensive systems neutralised, then see what you can get from their computer."

With a discreet nod the Vulcan excused himself and departed, leaving the Captain of Voyager to gaze at the mysterious ghost ship floating beyond the observation windows. A ghost ship that had apparently tracked the Federation starship, attacked and boarded, and fled all whilst its sum crew decomposed in a mass grave.

…

* * *

…

Nicoletti grunted through gritted teeth as she struggled to sit up. The powerful medical force field surrounding the shattered remains of her pelvis, however, gave no inch in its single-minded quest to keep movement to an absolute minimum. Reaching for the glass of water waiting so patiently on the table nearby, she cursed as the hiss of the field beneath her stomach signalled she would get no closer.

Sending her arm around her head she succeeded in palming the glass to the floor with a dull crack, as her fingers crudely closed a second too late. "Son of a bitch!"

"Computer," Nicoletti snapped. "Was that your idea?"

The clipped tone of Voyager itself seemed unmoved; "Please restate question."

"Why can't you get me some strawberries. Make yourself useful. With cream and milk."

The faint but recognisable hum of a replicator filled the air as the Computer put its artificial intelligence to use impeccably. "Your selection is available at Replicator S-2. Your replicator rations have been debited accordingly."

Susan looked at the delicious dessert from across Sickbay, her eyes traversing down to the medical gown and field emitters surrounding her abdomen. "Son of a bitch!"

"Please state the nature of the medical emergency."

Without thinking, Nicoletti threw her hands in the air. "I'm trapped in a twenty-fourth century nappy, the computer is mocking me with strawberries and I want a bath."

An arm clad in Starfleet medical blue and carrying said dessert stepped into view. "I'm more proficient at repairing a tear in the aorta than waiting on, but I'm something of a jack of all trades, master of one."

"I'm sorry Doctor," Susan replied almost sullenly whilst whipping the desert from his hand. "I'm just

frustrated with being in here is all ... Not that there`s anything wrong with living here. Sort of."

The EMH nodded, "It's quite alright Ensign - I'm just part of the furniture. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a rather cold and quiet visitor scheduled for my 1500 appointment."

Plucking a schedule padd from the desk, he nodded. "… And I'll finally get a look at whatever the instrument of chaos they used on B'Elanna and Seven was, and how it made such a ridiculous mess of everything …."

...

* * *

...

The thick reams of dust that lined every bulkhead, crawlspace and panel joint painted furry white lines about the near pitch-black corridors of the drifting hulk. The occasional inspection cowling lay on the decking to reveal the ghost ship's technological innards, at the instigation of numerous Starfleet away teams. From behind cooling vents, the barest blue-hued flickering of a dying power system sent warping shadows dancing across the metal.

A keening echo brought a metal grating crashing down from the corridor roof; clattering to a stillness and sending a plume of dust into the air to fill the atmosphere with a sticky haze.

It dropped from the service duct with a hiss, tumbling to the decking without grace or balance and wheezing with effort. Black chitin glinting dimly on two brutish scythes the creature hauled itself broadly level on two thick legs, laden with cruel spurs and sculpted, razor-sharp organic spires.

On a sinewy, slight neck anchored by four toughened tendons a compact head enclosed in fused chitin snaked. From it three eyes arranged as a triumvirate stared balefully out, unblinking. Spreading its jaws out on the horizontal as pincers rather than the norm, a terrible rasping filled the air. Leaching across the floor a trail of thick grey liquid spread lazily from rents in its armoured, iron-hard chitin.

It had precious little time left.

…

* * *

…

The Doctor stared at the device - for lack of a better word – laying prone on the biobed with a quizzical look. Passing through the level ten isolation field guarding the rest of the ship from the unknown, the EMH began his eighteenth sensor scan. The weapon of sorts was a fleshy, moist cylinder some six feet in length and tapering to a fine point. Protecting most of its length hardened chitin coloured a dark red sat like armouring - with the blue flesh tinged brown at the tapering "discharge" point.

From its mid-length half a dozen tendrils lay flaccid on the mattress; oozing a viscous and thick fluid which pooled as a grey mess dripping to the decking. Molecular analysis had indicated the fluid was some sort of bio-organic liquid - a medium for nutrient transmission.

The weapons itself sat on a sticky, syrup-like mess which had stained the biobed a dark orange. A loud beeping from the tricorder brought a further frown from the hologram. Crossing to the sensor output monitor the frown deepened as photonic hands flew over the LCARS interface. The swish of the Sickbay doors, however, brought the Doctor company.

Kathryn Janeway entered briskly - her command gait honed as if by specific Starfleet courses in walking with a purpose. Fixing her eyes on the ship's Chief Medical Officer, she waited with deceiving patience for the EMH to exit the otherwise impenetrable force field. "Report, Doctor."

"I've had difficulty making much headway as to precisely how this weapon functions or its actual purpose," He replied. "However it is clear that the basis of the weapon is biological rather than technological. It is in possession of a circulatory system as well as a rudimentary passage of nerves."

Janeway's thoughts turned immediately to two enemies-of-a-sort which had threatened Voyager during their passage through the Delta Quadrant. "Are we dealing with a sentient weapon? Like the Druoda torpedo?"

The Doctor shook his head, even as he was filled with revulsion at that unsightly episode in his "life". His matrix possessed and overtaken by a self-aware bomb hell-bent on committing suicide and murder, for a war long abandoned. Such things he longed to forget. "The neural network is simplified - it falls well short of even achieving self-awareness."

The Captain swallowed hard; resisting the urge to bite her lip. The twisting in the pit of her stomach confirmed that she'd have preferred to face the psychotic sentient weapon, rather than what lurked on the tip of her tongue.

"Species 8472?"

"Again, I don't think so," The EMH responded without breaking his gaze from the readout. "We know that Species 8472 are a bone-fide species having evolved in fluidic space in much the same way any other biological race has done so. However my scans of this weapon indicate that the DNA information is tagged on the molecular level - It's been synthesised artificially."

"Interestingly enough," The Doctor continued, "The weapon appears to utterly lack a power source in the same way a phaser rifle is powered by an energy pack. However these tendrils emanating from the barrel, appear to be conditioned to withstand large amounts of energy …"

Janeway sighed slightly, "Your point?"

"The away teams who scoured the alien vessel found no armoury to speak of and definitely no power sources consistent with use for personal weaponry. The only explanation is that whomever - or whatever – uses these weapons, carries an internal power source."

Cutting off the Captain from replying, a piercing klaxon drowned out the gentle hum of shipboard life as the ship's computer joined the fray.

_"Intruder alert - deck fifteen, section nine repeat — intruder__ alert on deck fifteen, section nine."_

The Captain's hand flew to her commbadge. "Janeway to Bridge, report!"

"The hull has been breached on deck fifteen Captain," Came the matter-of-factly report from the ship's unflappable Vulcan Security Chief. "There was no disruption to the navigational deflector field, therefore we can rule out asteroid impact or weapons fire. Internal sensors confirm momentary detection of life signs not on ship's manifest. I have sealed section nine with force fields and am en-route with a security team."

"I'm returning to the Bridge. Keep me informed," Janeway responded, already turning to exit Sickbay. "Continue your examination Doctor … We need answers to some of these questions."

…

* * *

…

**To Be Continued ...**


	7. Chapter VII: Time to be a Hero, Doctor

_Pairing : B'Elanna / Seven_

_Rating : Mature_

_Feedback : I took the time to write it, so do me the honour of taking the time to respond when you read it._

* * *

_Chapter VII : Do No Harm ..._

* * *

Tuvok's eyes scanned the gun-metal corridors of Voyager with the keenness of a hunter seeking prey in tantalising proximity; phaser and arm outstretched, knees slightly bent and flanked by two of his most senior officers - Mendoza and Canasares.

Only the steady blinking of the tapers, set into the bulkheads and announcing Red Alert disturbed the three officers as they advanced section by section, finding nothing conclusive or suspicious. The Vulcan cautiously glanced at the tricorder held in his free hand - inconclusive readings. A shuddering reverberated through the corridor, causing all three to grope at the bulkhead for support as the section lighting overhead flickered, whined, and died to be replaced by the temporary shadows of the crimson warning lights.

Tuvok regained his composure, with a practised expression of mild annoyance. "Bridge to Security Team Alpha - the intruder has disabled main power on that deck. Force fields are offline."

"Acknowledged; we are proceeding with caution," He replied, nodding at Mendoza and Canasares to continue forward.

Had starbases and refits been free to VoyagerTuvok would have made many changes to the ship's security systems - free-standing power sources for force fields, wall mounted phaser emitters and a multitude of other improvements learned from a harsh and hostile Delta Quadrant. Here, and now, those improvements were schematics and tactical analyses on PADDs in his quarters.

Utterly useless.

A frantic chase through dark corridors reminded him of their hunt for a member of Species 8472, whilst being hunted themselves by a band of relentless Hirogen. He recalled the attempts at communication between the creature and himself, and ultimately its loss by Seven of Nine. At the time - though he would never have admitted such - and indeed now, he felt her actions reckless but essential to their survival. They would have died for the creature if nothing else had been done.

Putting such thoughts aside, an eyebrow raised upwards to crease his brow as the tricorder that had been passive a moment before began to shriek furiously. Straining his ears, he could hear nothing unusual but the activity on the display passed beyond the scale and above. "I am detecting an extraneous, fluctuating electro-magnetic field."

"Shipboard EPS?" Mendoza replied, without a hint of nervousness.

He was a good officer, one of the many former members of the Maquis who had assimilated into Voyager's crew. Born on one of the many disputed Human colonies within the DMZ, he had seized the opportunity to start his life again on joining the ship and had quickly become one of Tuvok's most valuable officers. Indeed, a possible Chief of Security one day, either on Voyager or if they ever returned, Starfleet at large.

The current Chief of Security shook his head, unconsciously tightening his grip on his phaser. "All power taps have been sealed from engineering; there are no live conduits. The field energy is increasing exponentially—"

A series of sparks erupted from the tricorder, as the delicate control surfaces shattered under the onslaught. Tuvok dropped the burning unit to the decking instinctually, as he became aware of a high pitched whine that did not seem to be emanating from the ship itself. A muted burble and a coil of grey smoke from the hand phaser announced the failure of the weapon; a glance at the officers accompanying him confirmed the same in triplicate.

"Tuvok to Bridge," He began, only to be met not by the chirrup of his commbadge establishing a successful connection, but silence. A second and third attempt by Mendoza and Canasares to reach someone – anyone – likewise failed. It seemed as though the extraneous field detected by his now-neutralised tricorder was acting as a super-charged electro-magnetic pulse; disabling any technology approaching.

It seemed a superb piece of bad fortune … Or a formidable defence mechanism.

Before Tuvok could issue the order to retreat, a single curved blade crept around the junction, glinting in the red lighting and causing him to begin to backtrack instead. With the crumple of indented metal the creature slowly peered around the corner, anchored as it was firmly to the wall. Without obvious eyes it regarded the three Starfleet officers beginning to move away, and cocked its head slightly.

Pausing before the shiny black surface of an LCARS interface, the creature plunged a chitinous blade through the surface, shattering a hole and exposing the electronics within. The high pitched whine on the air increased two-fold, so much so that Tuvok winced in pain as his eardrums ruptured under the sonic assault. The display flickered with Starfleet yellow and blue despite the fact there was no power to the entire deck, let alone the tactile screens or monitors. At first gibberish it displayed gibberish; random characters, sentences and glyphs – a result of energy, but no processing power.

After a few moments the display became more coherent and from a distance, Tuvok could see that the schematics of Voyager were now visible, rapidly being decompiled and displayed deck by deck, section by section.

"It's feeding energy directly into the console," Canasares whispered grimly, "Processing the resultant information like the main computer. I don't see any technological components on its body, but it can't be just biological … Purely organic creatures can't interface like that."

Voyager's Chief of Security took in the ensign's analysis, though his eyes were fixed on the constantly scrolling information displayed on the screen and presumably indicating what the creature was analysing. His jaw set as the console paused its frantic progress at deck five, Sickbay. Withdrawing the probing scythe it had manipulated the display with, the creature seemed to exchange a knowing stare despite its lack of facial features with Tuvok .

"Run!" He barked, though the intruder had already thrust another claw into the badly mangled console it brooded over, even as the team spun on their heels. A terrific roar erupted around the three officers as arcs of incandescent white energy tore along the wall, blowing out any fragile component it met en-route and finally escaping in a blast of razor-sharp fragments. Canasares, Mendez and Tuvok threw their arms over their as they fell to the decking under the assault.

Satisfied, the creature skulked back beyond the junction, out of sight and heading for a new destination.

...

* * *

...

Vorik glanced at the engineering console to confirm the security lock-outs, though only for the sake of completeness and accommodating foreign standards. He had found that humans were often unsettled when observing someone carry out an important task too quickly for their own sense of safety, even when it was an action performed a hundred times before.

He had taken to double-checking his work, if only to keep B'Elanna Torres from her bizarre post-Red Alert dance through every engineering console to make sure her staff had performed their duties to her satisfaction. He doubted it was a personal slight against them – the Chief Engineer seemed to believe instead that the ship itself was somehow constantly trying to outdo, frustrate and fail her.

Utterly illogical.

This evening however, at almost zero four hundred hours, the Half-Klingon would not be checking his station, or any. Indeed the misplaced psyche of the young woman currently co-habituating in the body of a former Borg Drone was preoccupied arguing with the main computer.

"Computer – Secure engineering functions and stations for Red Alert, authorisation Torres-Epsilon-Delta-Delta-Seven-One."

The Main Computer declined. "Unable to comply – voice match and biometric authorisation failure."

B'Elanna-Seven lifted her mesh-encased, artificial hand in a fit of rage only for a voice to stay the limb with a supreme effort.

*This is illogical B'Elanna - The computer is functioning as it was intended to; you do not sound like, or look like, Lieutenant Torres. Your codes will not function.*

"I just want to hit it!" B'Elanna-Seven shouted loudly to the rest of Main Engineering. "Give me the hand!"

*I will not; it is a waste of resources. Lieutenant Carey has sufficient authorisation to secure Engineering.*

The hand hovered in mid-air, alternatively shaking closer to the console and then back in a scene that seemed ridiculous to any watching, but a battle of wills to those understanding. After a few moments of struggle the hand fell to Seven's side, whereupon the blonde immediately sagged visibly against the bulkhead – cobalt eyes narrowing in pain. The slightest trickle of warm crimson dribbled from her nose.

"We won't do that again," B'Elanna thought, in a conversation that was as loud to Seven as any spoken one. The engineer sensed agreement, and silenced the console in front.

The chirruping of B'Elanna-Seven's commbadge gave the duo something else to focus on.

"Janeway to Torres and Seven - We've lost contact with Tuvok and his team on deck Fifteen. Force fields protecting access to a turbolift on that deck have been breached; cut power to the entire lift system."

Seven's hands were quickly across the blue and yellow touch pads sprawled out in front, through a connection that granted her control over every single system - vital or otherwise - throughout the ship. Ignoring the auto-warning from the computer regarding a manual shutdown, she watched the network graphic slowly turn to grey as lifts throughout the ship were brought to a halt.

"We've still got a single lift moving Captain!" B'Elanna-Seven replied with the Engineer's typical incredulousness. "I don't understand; there's no power to the system. Internal sensors are detecting an anomalous EM field in the shaft."

As abruptly as the signal had appeared it winked out from existence, leaving the last lift as inactive as the rest of the turbolift system.

"The field has dissipated Captain – the car has stopped."

Janeway's voice betrayed none of the rising worry in the pit of her stomach. "Location?"

"Deck five," B'Elanna-Seven murmured with dread. Pulling open the storage locker underneath the console and snatching a hand phaser from its mounting, it took only a moment for the two personalities to come to an agreement over how to proceed with one body.

...

* * *

...

The Doctor nodded as the results of the scan filtered through to the diagnostic console. Meeting the gaze of his patient still kept immobile by medical force fields as her pelvis was slowly reconstructed, he managed a small smile.

"The superior ramus of the ischium has healed quite nicely Miss Nicolette."

"I'm really happy for you Doc," She replied with a sarcastic roll of the eyes. "I hope you'll be very happy together."

"Quite," The Doctor replied absent-mindedly. He handed the young woman the selection of PADDs she had requested, apparently to stave off the dreaded cabin fever inherent to medical bays and hospitals the length and breadth of the galaxy.

Crossing to the far side of the sickbay, the EMH checked on the comatose body of Lieutenant Torres. If her consciousness was not restored soon, he would have to begin electro-muscular infiltration to keep her muscles from wasting away from under-use. The Engrammatic Recorder confirmed no meaningful neural activity – unsurprising.

From somewhere behind the hologram the doors to sickbay parted. "Please state the nature of the medical emergency," He called out dryly.

The Doctor became aware of a high pitched whine that caused him to about turn, setting his eyes on a hulking black shape that did not seem in the least bit friendly or interested in seeking medical advice. The creature seemed to regard him for a moment, before either losing interest or finding something more to its liking and beginning to move towards the central biobed containing Nicoletti.

The young woman's eyes began to widen in horror, as she realised what stalked towards the bed. Her struggles merely added a loud buzzing to the whine, as the restraint fields kept her impossibly still from the waist down. Above the bed the concentric ring of white lighting elements began to flicker, going into spasm as some ethereal force acted on them. The Doctor was across the sickbay in a few moments, presenting himself between the invader and Nicoletti.

Despite the imposing form of the creature, the EMH felt reasonably confident; composed of photons and force fields, he was above the type of damage an organic being could inflict. It was with some creeping fear he realised his position might be altogether less secure, as his readied fists began to dissolve in a jarring flicker of destabilising photons. The phalanges of his fingers simply faded from view and quickly left him without palms, wrists or forearms. His face twisted into a deeply uneasy frown, eyes glancing at the equally fearful Nicoletti.

The creature seemed to pause to analyse the effect it was having on the Doctor, as if it had not expected such an event. It took a few short steps back, its malignant presence on him reducing as the EMH's matrix stabilised and he seemed no worse for wear. Extending a chitinous claw forwards, the invader cocked what seemed to pass for its head as the hologram's hands once more flickered and distorted themselves, finally disappearing from existence.

The Doctor did not like the obvious intelligence at work. The creature rotated its upper body a spine-twisting one hundred and eighty degrees and, with the front of its "head" still fixed firmly on The Doctor, plunged one of its sharpened scythes through the top of the diagnostic console. The unit erupted in a flurry of sparks at such abuse.

Almost instantly all lighting overhead died, plunging the room into darkness save for the emergency beacons and the cascade of bright sparks flying free from the damaged equipment. The EMH's worst fears were confirmed, as he felt his feet leave the decking. A spasm overtook his entire body as his limbs jerked painfully and randomly; his face contorting with the pointless effort to regain control. Deep in the pit of his non-existent stomach, The Doctor felt his matrix probed, prodded and pulled harshly at first, but then with ever increasing refinement and expertise.

The complex memory algorithms, secured with the most advanced protection lock-outs available to Federation holography and computing, were bypassed as the creature now effortlessly located the data he held on the crew of Voyager and removed it for its own ends. All this despite the most confidential and useful records held in his matrix being supposedly impossible to remove, not least without the most advanced understanding of his program.

The Chief Medical Officer of Voyager cried out in shock as his matrix was shorn cleanly in half without any external influence; torso tumbling to the decking whilst his legs rocked backwards and collapsed. His waist buzzed angrily, the smooth lines of his uniform degenerating into escaping photons and disrupted imaging lines.

B'Elanna-Seven was through the doors of the sickbay and in a firing position with a single stride of her lanky legs. Rage began to boil inside the former drone, as cobalt eyes fell first upon the twisted matrix of her close friend, and the terrified features of the restrained Nicoletti who had begun to sob as the Doctor mumbled gibberish and groped about the decking for an impossible footing.

The impossible logic of Seven herself acted not to calm the rage, but focus it and make the thing responsible suffer. A high-pitched whine filled the air and would have ruptured Seven's eardrums, were they not synthetic replacement implants. Pulling the inset trigger on the phaser, a ferocious beam of coruscating orange energy leapt from the emitter … Abruptly diminishing to a feeble yellow stream and finally disappearing into nothingness a few inches from the creature's bony carapace.

Apparently angered by this act the creature turned away from the Doctor, focusing its full fury on B'Elanna-Seven. B'Elanna cried out as agony flooded her being, vision swirling as bright colours intersected with reality. From the reaches of her mind she could hear Seven gasp, both women in the throes of the most incapacitating pain seemingly radiating from the Borg implants themselves; both fixed to Seven's flesh and deep within her body.

With a supreme effort of will and overcoming the spasm that had afflicted her meshed hand, B'Elanna-Seven squeezed the trigger of the phaser a second time. The weapon did not even reward the effort with a sound. Falling to first her knees, and then on to her side, the Seven's ocular implant failed and her vision was reduced to the one eye still gifted by birth and not implantation. The creature's "head" was now scant inches from B'Elanna-Seven's own, with no mouth eyes, nose or any facial features that one might expect to find on anything that was alive.

Apparently satisfied and moving away on six powerful limbs that each terminated in cruel, sharpened claws the attacker stomped to the Jefferies tube hatch covering aside the bulkhead and tore it from its hinges. It disappeared into the ship's innards a moment after the sickbay's doors opened to admit a half-dozen security officers led by a bloodied, but unbroken Tuvok.

"Reinitialise The Doctor," Voyager's Chief of Security ordered as he holstered his phaser and stooped over the prone form of Seven.

"Tuvok to Bridge – the intruder has incapacitated the Doctor and Seven and escaped our team. I believe it will attempt to leave the ship; it seems to have obtained all it came for."

The Vulcan's brow furrowed. " … Whatever that might have been."

...

* * *

...

"Please state the nature of the medical emergency." The words were automated; uttered the moment his matrix came into existence, before his memory algorithms loaded and reminded him of who he was, where he was, what he did and what had gone on with invading alien creatures and holographic dismemberment.

His eyes passed first on Ensign Kim, stooped over the sobbing Nicoletti and then to Tal Celesse, her hand resting on Harry's back. Next he met the slate-grey eyes of Captain Janeway, regarding him with a mixture of compassion and focus that marked her unique brand of command authority and finally, the unconscious form of Seven of Nine upon a bulkhead biobed.

"How do you feel Doctor?" Janeway asked evenly. It took a few moments for the EMH to break from his thoughts and return to the moment.

Shrugging his shoulders slightly, the hologram exhaled though no air entered or exited his non-existent lungs. "Fine, Captain."

Consulting the console in front, she nodded. "Your matrix has stabilised – it seems the creature did no lasting physical damage to your program other than remove the crew's medical file,s as well as your memory engrams of previous experiences and procedures. It downloaded a sizable amount of the ship's database … Almost sixty percent."

"Where is the creature now?"

The Captain's jaw set slightly. "It tapped into transporter control and overrode our lock-outs as if they weren't even there. It transported off the ship, to somewhere or something that doesn't register on our sensors. All we've managed to get from the computer is that it's near the transporter's maximum operational range. We're plotting a search course based on that as we speak."

The creature appears to have the innate ability to generate a powerful magnetic field, allowing it to render complex technology in proximity to it useless. Somehow it was able to render phasers, force fields and magnetic locks redundant – it was even able to remotely power a system and process its data even when that component had been isolated from the rest of the ship's EPS. It also showed capability to damage technology."

The Doctor followed the Captain's eyes to the prone body of Seven upon a biobed, and was immediately across the short distance in the time it took to snatch a tricorder from a nearby trolley.

The hum of the flashing probe was joined a few moments later by the silent frown of Voyager's Chief Medical Officer. His eyes narrowed. "Her neural implants are depolarising," The Doctor announced urgently.

"The entirety of B'Elanna's consciousness was stored in Seven's cranial assembly, which is an enormous strain in itself. The lack of regeneration, along with what I'm guessing must have been constant in-fighting between the minds and the body pushed her cortical implants to their limit. The creature's EM field has pushed the situation beyond tolerance … If I do not purge Seven's cranial assembly, she will die."

Tuvok`s brow raised from his position beside the Captain. "Do you believe you can reintegrate Lieutenant Torres' mind with her body?"

The Doctor shook his head as Janeway leaned over the bed. "If you purge the implants, B'Elanna's essence will be lost. Unacceptable Doctor – I need alternatives."

The EMH snapped the tricorder shut, frustration written across his features. His skills, already boosted by the finest medical minds of the Federation and seven years in the Delta Quadrant, were insufficient. Time had finally run out and there could be no miracle treatment this time; he could not save them both. He could not save B'Elanna.

He could not save them both.

Abruptly, the life sign monitor at the head of the bed began to shriek alarmingly. Consulting the readings, the hologram's expression became even grimmer.

"Her cortical node is overloading – she will die within the hour if we do nothing Captain. We are out of time."

Janeway glanced at Seven, and then the comatose B'Elanna occupying the bed further down. Her eyes seemed to battle between them, as if struggling to pick a side to win even though one had no hope of survival, and the other would surely die if she did nothing.

With a long sigh, and a final look at the EMH, the Captain nodded. "Do what has to be done Doctor. I won't lose them both."

"Doctor?" Kathryn added, brow furrowing as she noticed the hologram no longer seemed to be regarding his surroundings. Had he been Human, the Captain would have thought him daydreaming. "Doctor!"

"There may be a way!" The EMH practically shouted, his demeanour brightening at a thought running through his matrix. "We might not be able to transfer B'Elanna back to her body, and she certainly can't stay with Seven, but we might be able to maintain the status quo!"

The Doctor didn't wait for Janeway to prompt him for an explanation. "We need a vessel, a carry-can for the Lieutenant's mind until such time as we can fix this mess. We have all the vessels we need right here, right in this very room Captain!"

Janeway was more than willing to snatch at a miracle, if she understood what it entailed. "You're not making any sense, Doctor!"

The hologram rolled his eyes, gesturing at himself with his hands. "Me, Captain! A hologram! If we carry out a neural duplication, we can digitise B'Elanna's consciousness and upload it into a holographic avatar – it'll be the next best thing to being a living, breathing person."

The Captain turned away, clouded in thought as she ran through the possibilities of an audacious and quite brilliant plan.

A glance towards her Chief of Security elicited a nod. "It may be possible, Captain. I recall a case on-board Deep Space Nine, where a spatial anomaly interfered with a transporter beam and deposited the senior officers' consciousness in a running holo-program. It is theoretically plausible."

The Captain nodded. "Get Lieutenant Carey up here now."

...

* * *

...

"It's not possible," Carey said finally, dropping the last of the PADDs covering The Doctor's desk and sighing. Pinching the bridge of his nose, the Acting Chief of Engineering glanced towards Harry Kim – requisitioned to the cause given his experience in holographic programming. Harry nodded in reluctant agreement.

"Although the characters on the holodeck and the Doctor are superficially the same," Carey explained. "Namely they're both holograms, they're very much a different proposition, Captain."

"Your average holodeck character is a physical avatar with either pre-programmed responses, an interactive database, or very rarely both alongside your standard personality subroutine. They are incapable of true abstract thinking, realising their own nature, or growing beyond the limits of their programming out with a very narrow number of unlikely possibilities."

Joe gestured to the ship's CMO. "The Doctor isn't so simple. His program has the capability to create its own subroutines based on experiences, and personal interaction. In a purely technical sense, his matrix has experienced so much it has created its own internal code editing tool, allowing it to literally grow. It's impossible to simply cut out and paste – as he learned when he tried to modify his own program with elements from other historical characters."

"We can't create another program that will cope with sentience?" Janeway asked incredulously.

Harry shook his head. "It's not about designing a program that can cope with B'Elanna's sentience, Captain. It's a question of shipboard processing power. We've had other holograms that attained some measure of intelligence, beyond their original design, running concurrently with The Doctor in the past."

"Krell Mosset, the Cardassian scientist that helped remove the parasite that infected B'Elanna is an example. These other holograms have never run for long periods of time, and certainly never full-time like The Doctor."

"The main computer would be pushed beyond what I'd consider safe limits running two sentient holoprograms full-time," Carey continued. "We might create some breathing room by disabling the holodeck and the holographic sensors in Astrometrics, but we'd be sailing closer to the wind than I'd ever like to be. We're talking about a situation that leaves absolutely no spare processing capacity. Putting aside the issue of shipboard operations, the smallest system failure could have serious repurcussions for both the Doctor and B'Elanna."

Janeway glanced at the Doctor, who was crestfallen. Her own disappointment was hidden behind regulations and authority, but it was every bit as painful. Her eyes passed to Seven, the body of B'Elanna, and then the medical sensors above the former drone's head. Her vitals were fading quickly; their miracle treatment had run out of time.

"Delete me," The Doctor said simply.

Tuvok, the Captain, Carey and Kim fixed their eyes on the hologram with a disbelieving look. He nodded firmly. "Restore my program from the database default. All the additions to my program since I were first activated, If they were removed, would mean I'd be as complex as the characters on the holodeck, yes?"

"I suppose," Carey replied quickly. "But your personality would be lost, you're-"

"I understand the proposition," The EMH interrupted. "If I'm restored to my factory settings, so to speak, B'Elanna can be holographically revived. It's the only way to save them both, Captain. It's the only way I can save them both."

Janeway shook her head. "I can't ask you to sacrifice your sentience, Doctor. I won't trade a life, even if it's electronic, for a life. B'Elanna would never expect you to be sacrificed so she could live. She would—"

"I never asked to live!" The EMH interrupted loudly. "I was created at Jupiter Station, I was one of Eight hundred and forty nine copies compiled and organised identically. I was based on the physical characteristics of an existing life and my mannerisms, voice and personality are all derived from him. I was only supposed to suture wounds, heal broken bones and fight infections. Above all else, I was programmed to Do No Harm. I was programmed to save lives."

"Let me fulfil my function!" The Doctor pleaded. "You wouldn't hesitate to lay down your life for your ship Captain, and Commander Tuvok would do the same for any member of this crew. If I can save B'Elanna, I must. I couldn't live with myself otherwise, and to watch her die and remove any memory of her passing would be to mock sentience itself."

"I wish there was the time for you to think about what you are proposing Doctor," Janeway replied in frustration. She glanced at the life monitor. The Doctor pointed at the screen, illustrating his point.

"Our time is up, Captain. Her cortical node is entering end-phase overload. You must let me make my own decision. You must let me be free – to sacrifice myself for the good of another. I did not graduate from Starfleet Academy and I did not take the Oath of Service, but give me this opportunity to fulfil its ideals, and its hopes."

Kathryn felt her eyes tighten, her command mask beginning to waiver and the emotional turmoil within threatening to boil out. Concentrating on keeping her cool in an otherwise critical situation, the she nodded her head slowly at Kim and Carey.

"Give The Doctor all the assistance he requires."

With that she turned and left. It was all she could do to keep control.

...

* * *

...

"It's nice to visit new places," The Doctor announced with his custom mockery-cum-cheeriness as he regarded the Warp Core with feigned fascination. From his position nearby, Harry Kim smiled as best his mood would allow. Lieutenant Carey did not glance up, his face twisted in concentration. The EMH tapped his mobile emitter thoughtfully as he checked the remote-link from sickbay – the computer informing him that post-surgery medications had been dispensed as per his orders, and that Seven's vitals were quickly strengthening now that she was not required to share.

"We could do this in more comfortable surroundings," Harry said aloud. "In the holodeck? Surely there's somewhere you'd rather be, for this … Procedure."

"I'm a Doctor made of light on a spaceship fifty years from home Mister Kim," The EMH replied with mock derision. "This is home. Besides, the colours of the mutual annihilation of matter and anti-matter in the reaction chamber always seemed beautiful to me. It's calming."

The Ensign regarded the warp core's constantly shifting pastel-hues with a warm smile, and nodded. "I concede the point."

"The avatar is ready," Carey announced from his station. "I'm bringing it online."

Taking a moment to materialise into existence, The Doctor stood face-to-face with B'Elanna Torres, or rather, her physical avatar. Collecting a small transport case from the console where The Doctor had linked to sickbay, he carried it towards Ensign Kim, placing it on top of his station and waving his hand towards it.

"It contains isolinear chips – personal messages I recorded a few hours ago, after we had finished the neural duplication. I didn't record one for everyone; a hundred and forty eight people seemed a little overindulgent. There's one there for you Mister Kim, and Miss Nicoletti, the Captain and a few others. I want you to deliver them for me Ensign."

Kim felt his eyes warm, and unlike the Captain he did not have the command mask to rely upon. Tears began to moisten his skin, and all the wrenching of the imminent loss of a friend bubbled to the surface. The Doctor laid a reassuring hand on the young man's shoulders.

"We all die Mister Kim, even holograms. I expect you to make a Lieutenant before you reach Earth, and I want you to promise me a few things. I want you to make Nicoletti your own; I've seen the way you two are, talking and laughing and just saying nothing. She will need a lot of help to get through the rehabilitation still ahead. You're the man for the job Mister Kim."

Harry nodded, clutching the box tightly. "There's one more thing," The Doctor added with his voice dropping to a whisper. "When you get home … Tell them about me."

Harry clasped his own hand upon The EMH's, and nodded. "Take care Doc."

"We're ready Doctor," Carey called from his console. The pair exchanged a curt nod and Voyager's Chief Medical Officer knew that both the Lieutenant and Harry Kim were dealing with identical feelings in opposite ways; the former becoming withdrawn, professional and the latter emotive.

They were both good officers. They were both good men.

The Doctor had spent his final night "alive" trying to revisit every single thing he had experienced in the last seven years, perhaps easier given his computerised existence than the same task given to an organic. Particularly, he had spent many hours in deep pondering regarding his protégé, his friend and his unrequited love.

How he loved Seven of Nine. He had poured whatever might pass as a soul for a hologram into the isolinear chip encoded for the former drone. He had explained that whilst it pained him greatly to have to leave the burden of his love on her and depart for oblivion, the EMH could not stand the thought of never having at least spoken of his feelings. He had spoken of his hopes and dreams for Seven, and that she might finally accept her own beautiful self and personality and find true happiness.

How he had loved Seven of Nine.

"I'm ready," The Doctor said simply, glancing at Carey and Kim with a nod and a smile. Carey drew in a breath sharply and leant his weight against his console.

"Computer execute engineering maintenance program Carey-one; command override for holographic safeguards Carey-epsilon-eleven-eleven-October."

The acting Chief Engineer ignored the computer's acknowledgement, as his eyes remained fixed on the Doctor stood beside the handrail around the Warp Core. He seemed peaceful, though Carey thought he caught the look of regret upon the EMH's face. It was only a thought, as The Doctor's face dissolved into nothingness before Joe could take a second glance.

Force fields deactivated to free the photons from their holographic prison and as easily as he had once been summoned, The U.S.S. Voyager's Chief Medical Officer simply ceased to be.

"Computer begin holographic upload Carey-seven," He ordered, tapping his commbadge with a free hand. "Carey to Bridge – I'm beginning the transfer of Lieutenant Torres' engrams to the avatar."

" … The Doctor's gone."

* * *

...

* * *

...

**To Be Continued ...**


End file.
